by N. P. Martin
I nodded, even though it was the last thing I wanted. "I’m sure."
Manannán put the hand back in the box and placed the box at his feet. Then he drew his massive sword, the blade of which seemed to glow in the breaking daylight. "Are you ready to pay the price?"
Swallowing hard, I nodded again. "Yes."
"Hold out your right hand."
A voice started up in me then, saying I was crazy if allowed him to cut off my casting hand, but I silenced the voice and shakily extended my arm out in front of me. "Do it," I said, my face tense with the anticipation of great pain.
No sooner did I put my arm out when Manannán suddenly brought his sword down in a movement that my eyes barely comprehended, so fast was it. One second I was looking at my hand, the next I was looking at a bloody stump and my severed hand lay on the floor of the chariot in a small pool of blood. I stared at the stump for long seconds as I waited for the pain to start. When it did, it came with shock and I began to breathe heavily as I tried mightily not fall to my knees clutching my wrist. On top of the physical pain, I also felt a massive sadness at the thought that I might never play guitar again.
Manannán didn’t seem at all disturbed by the sight of my bloody stump, and casually picked up the Hand of Drakkar from the box. Then he took hold of my arm and began to push the Hand of Drakkar against the cleanly cut stump. Immediately, I felt the Hand begin to bond with my arm as my tendons and skin began to conjoin with it. It was a painful process, but one which lasted only a moment. Before I knew it, it was like the Hand of Drakkar had always been a part of me. I held it up and flexed the long fingers, which were longer than the fingers on my other hand. Then I turned the hand around to look at the palm, at the strange slit in the middle, and when I did, the slit suddenly opened to reveal a human eye staring right at me. I couldn’t help but cry out in shock as I quickly turned the Hand around so I didn’t have to look at that sinister eye. "Whose eye is that?" I asked.
"Drakkar’s," Manannán said as if the answer was obvious. "It is what will give you sight."
I slowly turned the Hand again to look at the eye once more. The iris was a dark green, and the pupil was big and saucer-like. The look it gave me was nothing less than giddy malevolence, as if it couldn’t wait to get to using its powers again. Not only that, but I could feel a sense of evil intent begin to spread through me as though it was trying to take over. "What about my own hand?"
Manannán picked up my severed hand between thumb and forefinger, and then turned around and gave it to Enbarr, who to my horror, proceeded to eat it. Manannán then turned back to me. "You won’t be needing it again."
Still in shock at the sight of the steed chowing down on my severed casting hand, I stood in shocked silence as I began to think that I had made a huge mistake in sacrificing it for something that was clearly pure evil. "What have I done?" I said.
Manannán put a giant hand on my shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Heroes must make sacrifices," he said, his blue eyes full of compassion for my plight. "It is what makes a hero. Go now and save your friend."
I looked around and saw nothing but open sea. "Go?"
That’s when he picked me up with both hands and held me over the water. "Tread carefully, Corvin Chance, for not everything on the hero’s path is as it seems."
I was about to ask him what he meant by that when he suddenly thrust me down into the water and held me under. Instinctively, I began to thrash around until eventually I felt his hands let me go and I pushed myself upward. When I broke the surface, I was surprised to find that the chariot had disappeared, along with Manannán and Enbarr. "No…" I said, thinking he had stranded me at sea, but when I turned around in the water, I saw land and realized it was the shore I had started from.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I began to swim to dry land.
Chapter 13
It was as though something alien had attached itself to me; a parasite bent on taking over my body and mind. Still in shock after everything, I was driving back to the cottage as I tried not to look at the incongruous appendage now attached to my right arm. Every time I looked at the strangely clawed hand I felt slightly sick to my stomach, especially since I knew the hand belonged to some evil bloody Magi from years ago who probably left a trail of entrails and death behind him before he finally died.
I missed my own hand. Somehow I had thought that I would get it back after I was done with Drakkar’s, but Manannán soon shattered that notion when he casually handed it to Enbarr to chow down on and swallow. Just the thought of the steed crushing my flesh and bone between his huge teeth turned my stomach further. I was now left with the question of what I was going to do about my new appendage once I was done with it, assuming I didn’t die first. Was I supposed to just chop it off as Manannán had chopped mine off, and discard it once more to the sea? I had no idea, and decided I didn’t need to know until I had found and stopped Sorcha. Until then, that had to be my only priority.
As I drove along the peninsula with the morning sun now beating down strongly, I would notice on occasion that the Hand would make movements on its own, without any conscious direction from me. They were just small movements, like gripping the steering wheel harder than necessary, or the fingers would flex themselves, but they were enough to freak me out slightly, and to make me wonder if the Hand was gearing itself up for full autonomy.
By the time I made it back to the cottage, I couldn’t help wondering if the Hand of Drakkar was going to be the death of me.
Inside the cottage, I made myself coffee, but refused to do anything with my new right hand. In fact, I kept my arm tight to my side so I wouldn’t have to look at the Hand, nor let it touch anything. Everything I did, I did with my left hand, including taking a piss. There was no way I was going to let that thing touch my junk.
Despite keeping the Hand out of the way, though, it still found ways to get my attention, like tapping me on the leg, or pinching the skin of my thigh. Once, it even made a tight fist for long seconds before unclenching itself. It was like having another living entity attached to me, which was disconcerting to say the least.
When I went and sat on the couch I took a drink of coffee and then closed my eyes for a second, allowing a certain sense of relief to wash over me, more so because I was still alive and hadn’t drowned in the bloody sea. As dire as things were, that was at least something to be grateful for.
When my phone rang next to me, I picked it up without thinking with my new right hand, and realizing what I was doing, I dropped the phone again while I placed my coffee on the table in front of me. Then I picked up the phone again with my left hand, pushing the Hand of Drakkar under my right leg as if to trap it.
Answering the phone, I thought it would be Monty, but I was pleasantly surprised to hear Amelia Tasar’s voice on the other end. "Hey there," she said.
"Hey yourself," I said, glad to hear her voice. "How are you? Have you recovered yet?"
"I’m getting there. I’ll be out of this place soon."
"I hope they’re treating you okay," I said, referring to the staff at the Council Medical Center.
"They are." She paused. "Your friend Benedict came to see me last night."
"Oh? What about?"
"He wants to know what’s going to happen with Iolas’ empire, if I was going to take it over."
"And are you?"
"I don’t know." She went silent for a moment. "I might just dismantle the whole damn thing, to be honest."
I nodded. "Iolas may have gone too far, but I can’t deny he kept the criminal element in line. Without a General, things might get out of hand."
"Someone else will fill the position, no doubt."
"Yeah, some other psychopath probably, like Constantine."
"You’re beginning to sound like Benedict. He said the same thing."
"Maybe he’s right. Better you than someone else."
I heard her snort her dissent. "And what about me? Don’t I get a choice? I’ve spent most
of my life in service to this bullshit."
"I know you have." I paused for a second as I felt the Hand flex against my leg, and I shifted my weight onto it more to stop it from moving.
"Are you all right? You’re making weird noises."
"Fine," I said. "Just a bit… uncomfortable at the moment."
"Why?"
"It’s nothing, don’t worry about it."
"Why do I get the sense that you’re in trouble again?"
I looked away for a moment as I wondered if I should tell her about everything that was going on, but I ultimately decided not to bother her with it. She would only insist on helping and she had been through enough already. "I’m just helping Dalia with something."
"Your little Fae friend?"
I couldn’t help but notice the mild derision in her voice. "Yes, the one who helped save your life."
"I know. Tell her I’m grateful. What’s wrong with her?"
"She’s… sick. Very sick."
"Oh… what happened?"
"She was cursed by one of her own kind."
"Is she going to make it?"
I shook my head, unwilling to talk about it. "I hope so."
"I’m sorry, Corvin. Can I help?"
"No, I’m handling it. You just rest up. Maybe we can go for dinner or something when I get back."
"Get back? From where?"
"Cork."
"You’re mixed up in something, aren’t you? The Fae?"
"Yeah, but as I said, I’m handling it."
"You sure you don’t need my help? I owe you after all."
"You owe me dinner, nothing more."
I felt her smile down the phone. "I can buy you dinner," she said. "Then afterward I can show you just how grateful I really am."
A smile crossed my face. "Is that place making you frustrated or something?"
She laughed. "A little, yeah."
"Well, hang in there until I get back."
"I’ll do my best, Lothario."
We said our goodbyes and then I hung up the phone, wishing I was back in Dublin with her. The idea of spending a week in bed with Amelia filled me with longing, but the Hand pinching my leg soon got my attention instead. Almost angrily, I pulled the Hand from under my leg and held it up in front of my face. "What?" I demanded. "What do you want?"
The eye in the center of the palm suddenly opened then to stare right at me. A second later, I became aware of a whispering voice that seemed to fade in and out, as though someone was turning the volume up and down. To make matters even more creepy, the voice sounded like it was saying my name. "Corvin…" the masculine voice whispered.
I tried to ignore both the voice and the Hand by trying to force it down to my side again, but the Hand didn’t want to be moved this time. Somehow it locked my arm so that it remained in front of my face. That eye, whom I assume belonged to Drakkar as well, stared right at me still, and as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from it.
Then the visions came. Images that flashed in front of me as if they were real. Ghastly images that were awash with blood and death, lingering pictures of mutilated bodies and screaming faces, followed by the sounds of actual screams mixed up with an unmistakable laughter in the background, laughter I knew was somehow coming from Drakkar himself, whose evil spirt still lingered within the Hand.
"Stop!" I shouted as I jumped to my feet, doing my best to shake the nightmarish images from my mind. The images soon stopped, but the heinous laughter continued, growing louder in my ears until it started to become unbearable. Not knowing what else to do, I went to the kitchen and began to look in the drawers for something to cover the Hand with. Finding a black bin liner, I wrapped it tightly around the Hand, glad that I no longer had to look at that unblinking eye. As soon as the Hand was covered, the sound of laughter dissipated unit it stopped, and a moment later I had control of my arm back.
"Goddamn it…" I stood shaking my head, unable to believe that I now had to put up with this evil appendage. Something told me that if I didn’t get rid of it soon, it would do its best to take me over completely, and perhaps force me into doing unspeakable things on its behalf, and I couldn’t have that. As soon as I found Sorcha and got her to lift the curse from Dalia, the Hand of Drakkar was coming off one way or another.
But first, I had to use it to find Sorcha.
Chapter 14
Sitting back down on the edge of the couch, I tentatively unwrapped the Hand of Drakkar, even though it was the last bloody thing I wanted to do. But I had gone to so much trouble to get it for a reason, and now it was time to make good on that reason.
The eye was already open as I removed the bin liner, and the fingers clawed and flexed as the unblinking orb stared challengingly back at me, as if it was waiting to see what I was going to do next.
"All right," I said, staring at the eye. "Show me where Sorcha is."
My demand was met by faint laughter that echoed menacingly in my ears. Not the response I was expecting. Nonetheless, I persisted.
"Where is the Fae Sorcha? Tell me where she is!"
More laughter sounded around me, only this time it was accompanied by a hissing voice that said, "Sacrifice…"
I shook my head. "Sacrifice? I’ve already cut off my bloody hand!"
"Blood… sacrifice…"
"Blood sacrifice? Sounds like a book I read once."
"Blood!"
I stared straight at the eye of Drakkar. "No more blood!"
The eye in the center of the palm widened then as if in fury, but I didn’t care how pissed off the Hand was. Or at least I didn’t until it suddenly launched itself at me. I was powerless to stop it as the Hand wrapped its bony fingers around my throat and started squeezing. Unable to breathe, I used my other hand—my own hand!—to pull at the Hand of Drakkar in an effort to get it off me, but it was stuck there like a damn Facehugger from Alien. And the more I pulled, the tighter the grip got, until I thought I was going to pass out. But then the Hand suddenly loosened its grip, allowing me to breathe again as it slowly pulled away and positioned itself in front of my face, the eye doing a grand job of communicating that I had to do as it said or else it would kill me.
When I got my breath back enough to speak, I growled at the Hand. "Pull a stunt like that again and I’ll go all Bruce Campbell on your ass with a fucking chainsaw, got it?"
I don’t think the Hand had much of a clue what I was talking about, but I’m sure it got the gist. In any case, it didn’t seem too concerned by my threat to cut it off. Instead, it started its whispering again, only this time its demands for a sacrifice were accompanied by a series of gruesome images that depicted a figure in a dark hood, who I took to be Drakkar himself, using a sacrificial dagger to slit some poor girl from gullet to groin, before plunging his hands inside the resultant cavity to scoop out his victim’s intestines. Thankfully, the images ceased before I could get a chance to see what Drakkar did with the innards.
"No way," I said firmly shaking my head. "No way am I killing any innocent people, and especially like that."
"Sacrifice!" the voice of Drakkar demanded once more.
"No!
"Sacrifice! Sacrifice! Sacrifice! Sacri—"
"NO!"
Having had enough, I grabbed the bin liner to cover up the Hand again, but before I could, the Hand made a fist and punched me in the face, hitting me right on the cheek and eliciting a scream of pain from me. Then it hit me again, this time on the nose, causing blood to flow instantly.
And it kept on hitting… and hitting…
As much as I tried to stop it, the Hand was too strong for me, and before I knew it, I was knocked right into oblivion.
When I came to, I was still lying back on the couch and the Hand was still in front of my face, its knuckles reddened with blood. My face ached as I tentatively touched it with my left hand, and my nose felt broken as I had trouble breathing through it.
The eye stared at me as if it now expected my total submission.
The eye positively quivered with rage as the Hand started attacking me again, hitting and hitting until all I saw was blackness…
The next time I opened my eyes, the Hand was still there in front of my face, and I found I could only see out of one eye. Not only that, my whole face felt misshapen as if it was cracked all over. My mouth was so busted I could hardly speak.
"Sacrifice!" Drakkar, or what remained of his spirt, demanded once more.
I didn’t answer this time. Instead, I got up quickly from the couch and rushed to the kitchen where I grabbed the biggest knife I could find. Then I slammed the Hand down onto the chopping block. "I’ll find another way to stop Sorcha and save Dalia," I said as I raised the knife, intending first to stab the eye, and then to cut the Hand off altogether. But as I brought the knife down, the Hand inevitably resisted by springing up and grabbing my wrist, slowly turning the blade of the knife on me, pushing it toward my throat. As the knife got nearer, I tried to use my magic against the Hand for the first time, but I wasn’t surprised to find that I couldn’t, for Drakkar was blocking it. I couldn’t even drop the knife as the Hand was holding it in place, ensuring I couldn’t open my left hand.
The point of the knife had reached the hollow of my throat by the time I relented. "Stop!" I said. "I’ll do it…"
The Hand pulled the knife away slowly, keeping it just in front of me. "Sacrifice…"
I sighed helplessly. "All right, I’ll give you your damn sacrifice you evil son of a bitch…"
Drakkar’s evil spirit, asshole that it was, wouldn’t allow me access to my magic so I could heal the damage it had done to my face. I guess it wanted the pain to be a reminder not to mess with it again. In any case, the Hand ceased its autonomous movements for the time being, and stayed by my side where I kept it so I didn’t have to look at it.