Unholy Blue (32 page)

“Hey, kiddo.” Shay appeared. She squatted down next to them, dirty and gore-covered, and ran a hand down Cor's back. A welt ran across her chin. “You okay?”

Blinking through his tears, Cor nodded. He scrubbed a sleeve across his eyes, then sniffed. To Bann's pleasure, he pulled away and wrapped his arms around Shay, who hugged him back with a fierceness that made him squeak.

Over Cor's head, Shay looked up at Gideon hovering nearby, ever on guard, even though the battle was over. “Thank you,” she said, indicating Cor and Bann with a tilt of her head.

“At your service, Healer.”

Shay nodded back. “Let me see to your dad now, okay?” She gave Cor another hug before letting go. “Remember what I said before?” she joked.

Cor scooted over to Bann's left side. “About Dad needing looking out for more than anyone?”

“That's right. More than anyone in the whole round world.” Shay grinned at Bann's sputter of protest, then stood and reached down for his arm.

Becoming wearier with every passing minute—as well as slightly nauseous and feverish—he allowed her to pull him to his feet. He kept a hand on the top of Cor's head as a wave of dizziness washed over him. His maimed finger screamed with every heartbeat.

Dead Fir Bolgs lay scattered all over the yard. One even hung draped over the top of the jungle gym. To Bann's fresh sorrow and requisite guilt, a few Doyles were sprawled motionless on the ground, including the young female Knight who had tried to stop the shapeshifter. Others stirred in pain; uninjured clan members were already shouting for Shay.

“Go.” Bann nudged her toward the wounded. “I'm fine. Just weary from battle.”

“I'll see to him and the boy.” As Shay hurried away, calling for Ann and James to come help her, Gideon stepped closer, tucking the handle of the hatchet into his belt. The knife, he kept out. “Bann. Your finger.” He took Bann's left hand, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “I'll not vouch for its cleanliness.” He wrapped it around the bleeding stump and tied it tightly, then bent over and picked up Bann's iron knife. After wiping it clean on his jeans, he presented it.

“Thank you.” Bann took the weapon. “My son and I are in your debt, Gideon Lir. As is the Doyle clan.”

“
Whist
.” Gideon waved away the statement. “There is no debt here, Bannerman Boru. Not for my part. In fact…” He started to say something else, then stopped.
“We will speak later. For now, come inside before you keel over and Shay Doyle accuses me of poor care.”

Suddenly aware of a gods-awful thirst, Bann nodded and allowed Gideon to take him by the elbow and guide him around the dead and injured. As they walked, with Cor in front, the Knight explained how he and Cor and other Doyles had parked in the Garden. Then, in a forced march, the Knights had made their way through the foothills, using the woods and the storm to mask their presence as long as they could.

“And I hope, Bannerman, that you will pardon me for casting your son as bait. It was the best way I knew to draw the enemy to us and divide their numbers,” Gideon said as they entered the kitchen.

Bann nodded, suddenly too drained to care. He sank down with a groan at the now-righted kitchen table, resting his ravaged arm on his lap. A grinding exhaustion reminded him of the time he'd got caught in an undertow as a teen. The Atlantic had seemed determined to drag him, underwater, all the way from Galway Bay to Boston Harbor. Only a desperate struggle, the use of the Song, and a fisherman who managed to get his coracle to the floundering youth had saved him.

“If you will be all right here,” Gideon said, “I'll scout about and make certain the remainder of the Fir Bolgs—the few that got away, that is—are well and truly gone from the area.” He turned to Cor. “Cormac Boru. Bravely done today, boyo.” The Knight held out a hand. He and the boy clasped forearms.

“'Bye, Gideon. Oh, this is yours.” Cor started to pull off the sweater, then paused when the Knight shook his head.

“Keep it and wear it in good health.” A shadow swept across his lean face, then was gone. With a final nod to Bann, he slipped out the door.

“This was his son's.” Cor plucked at the sweater. “But Gideon said he was never coming back. I think he died.”

I think so, too
. “Fetch me some water, would you, son?”

After handing the glass to Bann, Cor hovered nearby, eyes fixed in morbid fascination on the man's left hand.

“Why,
this
is nothing, son.” He unwound the cloth bandage and splayed his fingers, examining the littlest one that was now even smaller. Tully's blade had caught it just between the fingernail and the first joint. A knob of bone stuck its head out of a collar of ragged flesh that still oozed. “Shay will fix me up in no time.” Gulping down the water, he watched as clan members began arriving with the wounded Knights, all of them able to limp in under their own power.
Or stubbornness
, Bann thought.

Speaking to Ann over her shoulder, Shay followed. “We'll use the living room as a temporary ward, if that's okay with you. That way, I can keep an eye on everyone at the same time. Thank the Goddess you and James have had first-aid training.” She stepped to one side as Rory appeared last, carrying a Knight who looked barely old enough to have finished her apprenticeship.

“Fine with me. But first—” Ann stopped Shay on her way out of the kitchen. “I want you to see to Bann.” When both Bann and Shay started to protest, she held up a hand. “James and I can handle triage as well as you,
missy. You'll function better for having one less worry.” She followed Rory through the doorway.

“She's right.” Shay pushed a straggling lock of hair out of her face, then pulled it free of what was left of her ponytail. Smoothing it back with a grimace at the blood and muck, she retied it in the gesture that Bann had come to call her Healer mode. She started a bowl of water boiling in the microwave, and the kettle on the stove as well, then scrubbed her hands at the sink. “Cor?” She spoke over the
whoosh
of running water. “Find the largest bowl you can in that lower cabinet and bring it to me. We're going to need a big batch of nettle potion.” She rummaged in a drawer, then pulled out a flat sutures kit.

As she bustled about, Bann removed his shirt, hissing as he eased the sleeve off. Puncture wounds marred his skin like giant pox marks. As he soaked his finger in a bowl of potion, Shay doctored his various knife wounds and bruises. He stopped counting at fourteen.

“Right. Now the finger.” Holding his dripping hand, she studied the maimed digit. “Well, this is pretty minor as far as missing body parts go.” She gently pinched the skin together, stitched it closed—Bann gritting his teeth with each poke of the needle—and bandaged it tightly, tying off the gauze with a neat knot, then turned her attention to the bite marks. “Your left arm sure took a beating today. Good thing you're right-handed.” A line appeared between her brows as she bent over the punctures. After a long moment, she straightened. “Not as deep as I had thought, which is good.” The frown line did not go away.

She's worried because it was Cernunnos
, Bann thought.
She'll read more into it than is necessary
. “It is not like I swallowed any of the god's blood,” he said in a low voice, his eyes cutting over to Cor rummaging in the refrigerator for a snack after being told he could eat whatever he could find.

“But, still…” She shuddered. “
Cernunnos
, you know?” She nailed him with a look. “You tell me the
instant
you feel…
different
. Wrong. Off. Too hot. Too cold. I don't care what. You understand?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

After wrapping his arm with a poultice soaked in the healing brew and gulping down a cup of nettle tea for her own cuts and bruises, Shay kissed him gently, mindful of battered lips, then ordered Cor to take care of his dad and make sure he ate something. “Cor's the boss,” she said, much to the boy's delight. She disappeared into the living room.

While the uninjured Doyles swarmed about, cleaning up as best they could, Bann remained seated. Next to him, Cor munched his way through a packet of Fig Newtons he had scavenged from the pantry. The thump of furniture being moved and Knights recounting the battle to each other in unnecessarily loud voices made his head throb. A strange lassitude kept him glued to his chair.
I should help. The others are just as war-weary as I
. He found he could barely keep his eyes open. He blinked and straightened from his slouched position as Hugh limped into the kitchen.

“You look worse than Cernunnos.” The clan leader studied his face. “
After
you beheaded him, mind you. Why don't you go upstairs and rest a bit? My lot can take
care of things down here.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Cor. “Take your father upstairs for a nap. Oh, and by the way, Bann. I sent someone over to your home to see if the pup has returned.” He grinned at the boy's whoop of joy.

Holding on to Cor's shoulder, Bann allowed himself to be led upstairs. He protested when his son refused to let him stop by the living room and speak with Shay first. “For a minute only.”

“You're just stalling,” Cor said. He pushed his father toward the steps.

“Speaks the champion of such,” Bann muttered. He plodded up the stairs, moving slower with each one.

Turning into the room he always thought of as Shay's—and thankful the battle had not reached the upper levels—he closed the door, then took a few minutes to wash his hands and face, careful not to wet the bandages. When he sank down on the edge of the mattress and bent over to untie his boots, his son brushed his hands away.

“I'll do it.” Cor squatted down and struggled with the laces. After removing his father's shoes, he waited until the man stretched out on the bed, then covered him with a throw from the lounge chair in the corner of the room.

Bann closed his eyes. He sighed and patted the bed next to him. A movement and a rustle, and the twin thumps of a pair of shoes hitting the carpet, then Cor nestled next to him. Grateful for the feel of the small body by his side, Bann sank deeper into the softness of the down comforter.

R
OLLING SHADOWS, BLACK BULGING
things streaked with red like cuts in raw meat, drifted across Bann's consciousness. The shadows seemed to whisper with an oddly familiar voice—his own, but not—but he couldn't make out the words. Images of the day's events kept speeding through his head like a series of movie trailers on fast-forward.

He jerked awake, pulse thundering in his ears and his underarms and groin sticky with sweat. Curled on his side next to him, Cor stirred in his sleep with a murmur, then rolled onto his back. A small arm flopped over and landed on Bann's stomach. He found himself mesmerized by the soft flesh on the underside of Cor's forearm…the skin dirty, but flawless with youth.

Blinking away Lovecraftian-strange thoughts about blood and tender flesh before they could take hold, he eased out from under Cor's arm and rose, his movements stiff and awkward. He wondered if there was any part of his body that
wasn't
strained, bruised, sliced up, or missing. Glancing through the window at the late afternoon, he guessed he had slept for only an hour or so.

He picked up his boots and slipped out, leaving the door slightly ajar. Padding along the hallway, he took
time to check out the other bedrooms. They were untouched. Relieved, as if the thought of those creatures in this more intimate part of the house was like a violation of a sort, he sat down on the upper tread and pulled on his boots. He walked slowly down the stairs, each step reminding him of the beating—
make that beatings
—he had taken that day. The bites on his arm throbbed in rhythm with his movements. As he reached the bottom, the soft murmur of voices pulled him toward the living room. He paused in the entryway.

Two Knights were stretched out on the floor on blankets, their wounds bandaged and their eyes closed. Another Knight lay on the sofa, complaining to James, who was examining his stomach, that he'd had been hurt worse dating his wife and to leave off the nursing. Blood soaked the entire front of his torso.

“Ye look poorer than me, boyo,” the Knight said, his voice tight with pain as he nodded at the white gauze bandage on the side of James's head. “At least I still have both me ears.”

By the fireplace, Shay was bending over the young woman Rory had carried in. On the hearth next to her, a bowl of brew steamed, filling the room with the scent of earthy peppermint.

Seated on a dining room chair, the teen's jeans were puddled around her ankles. She gripped the chair seat with both hands while the Healer sutured a wound just above her knee. Spotting Bann looking at her, the young Knight blushed, then tugged her shirt tail farther down to cover her underwear. He made a show of casually looking away.

“Not as many were badly injured as we first thought, thank the Goddess.” Ann appeared behind him. Her face was clean, even though her clothes were still besmirched with blood and gore. “In true form, most of the injured went home already, declaring a stiff drink and a mug or two of
sláinte
brew will cure them.”

“And the butcher's bill?”

Ann sighed. “Four, which is rather light considering we were outnumbered.” She gestured over her shoulder to the kitchen. “Hugh and some others are out back now, preparing the graves. Most of the clan will return tomorrow morning to farewell our fallen to the Other-world.” Tucking her hair behind one ear, she looked him up and down. “You're looking better than last time I saw you.”

“I'm upright, at least.”

“And Cor?”

“Sleeping.”

At that moment, the front door opened. A young Knight, the one Bann recalled being quite chummy with Rory at the clan meeting, stepped inside. To his delight, she held a wiggling Sam in her arms. The puppy's blond coat was splotched with mud. A scratch left a thin line of red on the side of his muzzle.