Bound

10. Ghosts and Ghoulies

5

Ghosts and Ghoulies

Fidelma studied him for a moment, as if measuring him. Finally she spoke. “My dreams were full of shadows, of ghosts and ghoulies, of the screams of the banshee and the howls of his cursed Hounds.” Her face was pale and her gaze distant, caught in the memory. She breathed in a shuddering breath, lacing her fingers tightly together in her lap as her eyes sharpened on him. “But there were something else there too, something real. Not just shadows and nightmares.” Golden flecks sparked in her eyes. “’Twere ye I saw.”

Thomas’ blood turned to ice at her words.

“Ye were there, and I knew ye,” Fidelma continued. “It’s difficult to explain, sure, since I hadna seen ye yet. But he told me who ye were. But not yer true name.” She frowned. “Peculiar it was. Firefly.”

Thomas stiffened, hearing a faint echo of the Huntsman’s voice in his head as she spoke the word in English. His memory flashed back to the night before, facing the Alder King, the demon’s twisting shadow outlining his dark form. Suddenly he felt the other Fey’s attention upon him, almost as if the Huntsman were there, Speaking into his mind…

“No—don’t!” He jumped up, holding his hand out instinctively to stop her from saying any more.

Fidelma started at his sudden movement, her hand at her throat.

Thomas controlled himself with an effort. The flash-feeling of the Huntsman vanished, as quickly as it had come. He lowered his hand and sat down again, trying not to look as wild-eyed as he felt. “Don’t say that again, that name. I think he can see me when you say it.”

Horror filled her face. “God, have mercy,” she breathed out, and gathered herself. “Before last night I’d a-thought you a raving fool, but now—” She swallowed. “Now, I understand. There were a name he called me, too, and the sound of it from his lips were enough to stop my heart from beatin’. Even just thinkin’ it is—” She shook her head, her face pale.

“Don’t think it,” Thomas said quickly. “Don’t.” A twinge of pity struck him once again for this woman who had been trapped in the Alder King’s dreams through no fault of her own.

Fidelma picked up the blanket from the floor and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders again. She took a deep breath. “As I say, I saw ye, there in the dreamland. And oh, how ye shone, bright as the moonlight on a dark night in summer.” Her gaze travelled over him again. “It were glimpses only, bits and pieces amidst the nightmares I were wanderin’ in. But I saw ye, and yer face was—” she broke off, grimacing. “Something terrible had happened, and ye were there, talkin’ to me, but I couldna hear ye. The ocean was rising, ye see, and it were near to drownin’ me…” She shook her head. “It’s no use. I canna find the words. It were all a jumble. I can’t tell exactly what were goin’ on, but it were like the light ha’ gone out of the world, and me heart had stopped besides…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes swimming with tears.

Thomas swallowed. “Was there anything else?”

Fidelma wiped at her eyes and frowned. “There were a fog,” she said slowly as she strained to remember.

Thomas sat up straight, as if prodded by a hot iron. The mist.

“Ye were walkin’ in it, and were terrible afraid. I couldna see where ye were goin’, but all the while he mocked ye, and laughed. And then it were dark, the sidhe all around, and I heard him say, The ruin of the world he holds. I heard someone screamin’ but I couldna hear the words.” She let out a breath. “That’s it. I canna say what it all means, except…” she paused. “He were afraid, I think. Afraid of ye.”

Thomas shook his head, disquieted at the thought, at the images her dreams had pulled up. The fog, and the walking dream. That was real enough, he knew. He had seen that himself in his own dreams. I heard someone screamin’. “The ruin of the world,” he muttered, feeling slightly sick. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Fidelma shook her head. “I canna say, but I heard him clearly, to be sure.”

Thomas frowned. What had she seen, exactly? A glimpse into the future? Or was the Alder King toying with her, with him? Trying to frighten them for some twisted reason of his own? He remembered again the shadow of the demon upon the Huntsman. He couldn’t trust that he had given her a true vision. But he couldn’t trust that he hadn’t, either.

He forced his mind away from the morbid speculations. “You spoke of the sidhe,” he said, using the Gaelic word she had used for the Fey. “Nona said you know of them. Of us,” he amended.

“Oh, aye.” Her lips lifted in a rueful smile. “Yer da tol’ me, but there were no need for tellin’. I saw it in him like I see it in you. Plain as the sun in the sky, it is.” She paused. “I have seen your kind, here and there, but not until last night have I seen so many. Your da, he kept us away from them.”

Curiosity flared, and he leaned towards her. “Did he say why?”

Her lips thinned. “’Tis his tale to say, as I said.”

He frowned, impatient. “He might be asleep for some time. I want to know.”

She shook her head. “But I don’t know it all. There are things he canna say, things he wilna say….”

“Please,” he said, pressing his advantage. “I need to know. The last time I saw him I was nine years old. I thought he was dead.” His throat choked shut, and he had to swallow past the painful lump to continue. “I’ve waited long enough. Please. Just tell me what you know. Whatever it is.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it, closing her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, he knew he had won. “Just like yer da. Stubborn.” She heaved a sigh. “He said that in the Otherworld, before he met yer ma, the sidhe asked him to do something wicked, something terrible.” She held up a hand. “He wouldna tell me what it was. All I know is that he refused. They were very angry, and he ran from them. He travelled far, and met yer ma.” She pulled the blanket closer. “He hasna spoken much of her to me, but I know he loved her, so he did. And he was happy wi’ her, and wi’ his family. He loved ye all somethin’ fierce. It was for yer sake he did what he did.”

“My sake?”

“Aye. Because they found him, ye see. They found him, but they didna find ye, or yer ma. He wasna with ye when they came. And he found out they didna know about ye. He managed to escape, but he knew they would come after him. So he couldna go back to ye, in fear that they would take ye from him. And so he took the faery road and left the Otherworld. He came here. But he mourned ye, so he did. He knew ye were sidhe too, and so he hoped and prayed that one day ye would follow him.” She took a breath, her gaze roving over him again, mingled fear and wonder in them. “And here ye be.”

“Yeah. Here I am.” They eyed each other, the fire throwing jumping shadows around them. Her story whirled around his head. It was bare bones only, with much left out. He left me to save me? He blew out a breath, wondering what that meant. His mother’s face rose in his mind, and he swallowed, grief washing over him.

Finally Fidelma spoke. “I know it hasna been easy on ye, and I am sorry for it.”

He heaved a breath, his throat tight. He swiped his arm across his eyes. “No. Not easy.”

He stared at the fire, brooding. A spark drifted up lazily from the fire. Like all the structures of this time, the workshop did not have a chimney, but only a hole in the thatch that let the smoke out. He watched the bright spark as it spiralled up and burned out near the gloom of the roof.

“Thomas.”

He looked over at her.

“Your da has hurt ye, for all that his intentions were to save ye. And ye are angry, to be sure. He will understand. He spoke of that, some, when he heard ye were here. But if he survives…” Her voice choked off, and she pressed her hands together, taking a breath. “Dinna turn him aside. He will need ye, so he will.”

Thomas looked away from the appeal in her eyes. His gaze fell on his father, and his heart twisted. “He’s not who I thought he was. I need some time to get used to it.” He looked back at her. “My mother was never the same after he left. She died a few months ago.” Pain pierced him again at the injustice of it all. “He was still alive, and she never knew.”

“A hard thing, so it is. May God rest her soul.”

His lips pressed together, his eyes filling again. His mother had died without knowing God. He tried not to think about that, mostly.

“Fee.”

The hoarse word broke the silence. Fidelma leapt over to his father with a choked cry. She fell on her knees beside him, taking his hand in hers.

He looked up at her, his face drawn with pain. “Thomas…” he whispered.

He joined Fidelma, kneeling down beside her.

Matthew looked at him, his eyes glittering in the firelight, feverish. “It wasn’t a dream. It was you I saw.” He tried to sit up.

“Shh, me love, lie quiet now.” Fildelma gently pressed him back down to the furs. “Yer son be here indeed. All is well. Rest.”

Matthew’s eyes fluttered shut, and he sank into a fitful sleep again.

Fidelma got up and wet another cloth, placing it on his forehead. She looked up at Thomas, her eyes worried. “He burns, so he does. Can the Lady help?”

Thomas remembered the exhaustion in Nona’s face. The Gifts have a cost. He shook his head. “No. There’s nothing more she can do for now. She said to just keep him cool.” Frustration filled him. In his time there would be penicillin, painkillers, expert doctors. Here the patient was left to live or die, pretty much without any medical help.

Except for the Fey. He remembered the Healing and took a breath. That had done some good, Nona said. He prayed she was right.

He let out a breath. “Look. If…when he wakes again, don’t tell him about me. I mean, what you saw about me in your dream. Not yet.”

Fidelma’s eyes met his. “Aye. I understand. Ye want to get to know him without those words in his head.”

“Yes,” he said, grateful for her understanding. “We don’t know what they mean. It could all be a lie.”

She nodded. “Aye. It’s not something he needs to worry about. And besides, I fear he might do somethin’ foolish to protect ye from the Dark Rider. He may not survive another meetin’ with him.”

If he survives this one. But Thomas didn’t say it. He sat back on the workbench. Christ, have mercy. His fitful, short sleep was catching up with him. Weariness tugged at him like an anchor, and he sat with his head in his hands, listening to the rain falling, the rattling of the door on its hinges as small gusts of wind knocked against it.

Fidelma rose and joined him at the worktable, sitting across from him. “There’s one more thing I would say.”

She looked tired and drawn, but resolute. He sighed, bracing himself. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

“I don’t know much about the ways of the sidhe,” she began. Her gaze flicked over him again, fear touching her eyes, but she continued. “But I know your da is wary of them. Especially their king, the one called Nectan.” She lifted her chin, her eyes meeting his. “He was there last night, no? Standin’ against the Hunt? There was one I saw, standin’ in front…” Her voice trailed off, uncertain.

“Yes, he was there.”

She leaned towards him, her face intent. “Yer da’s blood has marked ye, and not just in yer looks. Ye have his courage as well, I’m thinking. So I’m asking ye: dinna let the sidhe king take him away to the faery lands. It is no’ his place anymore.”

You dare defy me, and you die. Nectan’s words flashed through his mind, and he shifted on the bench. “Nothing that I say would make much difference to the king,” he said. Seeing the stricken look in Fidelma’s eyes, he added, “But I have no desire to hand my father over to him, if it comes to that.”

And what will it all come to? His mind spun with all that had happened, all that he had learned. He stifled the yawn that overtook him, exhaustion overcoming his desire to try to think it all through.

Fidelma’s face sharpened in concern. “Ye be tired. Away to sleep wi’ ye, then. We’ll speak of this no longer.” She tilted her head towards a bundle lying on the ground, away from the fire. “The bone cutter brought ye a fur to lay yer head on.”

Thomas could not deny his weariness—it seeped through his very bones, it seemed. He picked up the fur, unrolled it, and lay down, making himself comfortable. It was much warmer and softer than a blanket.

He pulled his cloak over himself and closed his eyes, but he could not quiet his thoughts, which whirled around his head like confetti in a strong wind. God, give me strength, he prayed, and sleep took him into the blessedly dreamless dark.