by E G Radcliff
Ronan coughed as a cry stuck in his throat. “Ninian said his chest hurt, and I said that was probably okay, because a bone was broken and that should hurt, right?”
“Right,” Áed murmured, standing. He started moving toward the building.
Another glassy tear trembled in the corner of Ronan’s eye as he hurried to follow. “But then he said it really hurt, and I looked, and it was red under his skin.”
Áed’s heartbeat was loud in his ears like his footsteps’ pounding.
“And now he won’t wake up,” Ronan finished. His voice was pitiful, pleading. “Please, Áed, tell me he’s okay.” His voice crumbled as he chased Áed’s long strides into the tenement.
Áed heard Ronan behind him as he threw open the door to the flat that he shared with his friend.
Best friend.
More than a friend.
Ninian lay still in his chair, the same as he had that morning. His hands, long-fingered, lay limp on the armrests as if he were a bored king holding court over an empty room.
Or rather, not empty.
Áed could sense the bean sídhe, the banshee, inhaling deeply as if to steal the breath from the room, preparing to wail away Ninian’s life.
No. He banished the thought and forced his stiff fingers to find a pulse on Ninian’s neck.
Nothing, nothing, this couldn’t be happening...
There.
Ninian’s heart was beating. Weakly, but beating. Áed was praying, he found, though to whom he didn’t know. To the Gods whose names he invoked only in oath? To nature itself? He didn’t know.
The stain was deep red under Ninian’s flesh, and it radiated oddly from the spot where the rib lay broken. Áed knew what it was. He leaned over Ninian’s mouth to hear faint, gaspy breathing: Ninian was suffocating as he bled out inside.
“Ronan?” Áed called, and the boy was at his side. “I need a knife. Wash it as well as you can.” This wouldn’t work. He knew, deep in the pit of his stomach, that it wouldn’t work, it couldn’t work. Blurred by impending tears in the very corners of Áed’s eyes, the minute flaws in Ninian’s face—the scar below his lip, the bruises blossoming on his high, handsome cheekbones—seemed to fade.
Ronan returned with a knife, his own little one.
The knife trembled in Áed’s unsteady hands as he brought it to his friend’s chest. “I need a candle, too.” The sun was setting, and the flat was full of shadows. “Now.” He heard Ronan leap into action, heard the faith in his movement. It’s okay, Ronan seemed to be thinking. Áed is going to make it better. Perhaps Ninian had been right. They had raised this boy with too much naïveté.
Áed gripped the blade with both hands as Ronan returned with a packet of matches and a candle, but the boy’s hands shook so hard that he burned through all of the matches before finally managing to light the bent wick. Steadier light filled the room as the fire took hold. Pressing the knife between his knuckles, Áed brought it down carefully on the red splotch, and the blade pierced Ninian’s skin with a thick, strange heaviness.
The bloody reservoir bubbled from the wound in a gush as the pressure relieved. It poured like a crimson river over Ninian’s pale flesh, dripping onto the floor and puddling as it flowed in a morbid waterfall to the growing puddle on the floor. Áed listened as carefully as his pounding heart would allow. As Ninian’s blood poured over Áed’s hands, he felt for his love’s breath. It was still there, faintly, but it was growing stronger as the weight on Ninian’s lungs eased. With bloody fingers, Áed felt for Ninian’s pulse. It pushed against his fingers resiliently.
The discoloration faded as blood poured out, but it would be an excruciatingly temporary solution if the bone had slit a large vessel. If Ninian bled out too much onto the old floor, which was greedily quaffing his blood, he would die. If too little blood drained away, Ninian would bleed inside and suffocate.
Áed pressed his lips together, felt his eyes sting with tears, and called to Ronan. He’d relieved a lot of pressure—perhaps now, Ninian could heal on his own. His body must know that it was dying. It had to feel the urgency, had to be working beneath its deathly, blood-stained exterior to keep him alive. Áed prayed it hadn’t given up.
Ronan arrived at Áed’s side in an instant, bearing a cloth, and Áed took it and pressed it to Ninian’s side. The blood sidled through the cloth, and Áed kept pressing as he waited for the flow to stop. He didn’t know how much blood was in a body, but he knew that the parched floor was spongy with it. Too much or not enough, he could not say.
Eventually, the cloth was brilliantly red, and the bleeding stopped. The reservoir under Ninian’s skin drained and the torrent thinned to a trickle, then clotted to nothing at all. Ninian had grown pale, as white as alabaster, and his cool skin was tacky with blood under Áed’s touch. His slow breathing rattled in his chest. His heart, suddenly finding itself with little to pump, beat weakly and sporadically.
Ronan sat in the corner with his thin back pressed to the wall, eyes fixed helplessly on Ninian’s motionless shape even after darkness fell entirely. Áed took a seat in his armchair and settled into the quiet. Against the faint rumbling of the disturbed sky, Ninian’s shallow breaths were barely audible as they whispered through the heavy, lightless air. Ronan didn’t sleep; Áed could hear him shifting, patient and anxious, and he realized that the mood in the room was that of a vigil. They were two people, waiting for the final ruling of deities whom they both already knew to be cruel.
Áed welcomed Ronan as, hours later, the small boy crawled from the corner and curled beside Áed in the chair. “Áed?” he murmured.
“Yes?”
There was a pause, as heavy as a stone. “I just wanted to make sure you were still there.”
Áed held Ronan close and felt the child clutch his hand with his small fingers, holding on desperately to the small amount of comfort that Áed’s gnarled bones could offer. “I’m here, ceann beag,” he murmured. His own voice, like Ronan’s, came unevenly. “I’m here.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Áed had not slept when the sun, edging through the hazy air, announced the new morning.
Ronan, beside him, still held Áed’s hand, and the child’s fingers had grown sweaty. The boy, at least, had dozed, though now his green eyes opened to blink at the brightness. “Áed?” he croaked, coughing the sleep from his voice. “How is Ninian?”
Áed extracted his hand from the child’s fingers and used it to clumsily sweep Ronan’s too-long bangs from his eyes. The boy’s dark hair caught between Áed’s fingers.
Áed had been monitoring his love’s breaths all night, almost to the point of counting them, and he responded. “Living.”
Ronan’s replying sigh was a tiny thing, a timid expression of relief.
“Get up, Ronan,” Áed said, rising from the seat himself. He extracted yesterday’s packet of jerky from his pocket—Ninian’s blood had marred the paper, but the meat remained clean. He handed it to Ronan, saying, “Eat. Take the bread and the apple, too.”
Ronan’s face showed his surprise. “All of it?”
“Yes, all of it. Go on.”
Ronan needed no further prompting to tear into the meager food. Meanwhile, Áed crossed to Ninian, saying a thankful prayer to no particular God that the night was past and his love still breathed.
“Ninian,” he murmured as he slipped his distorted hand into Ninian’s elegant, calloused palm. The words scarcely passed his tongue. The hope that Ninian would answer was small, as fluttery as his partner’s heartbeat. “Can you hear me?”
He nearly jumped as Ninian coughed and a fleck of dry blood burst from his lips.
“Ninian?” Áed was aware of Ronan watching, of bright green eyes boring into his back.
Áed dropped to his knees, and Ninian coughed again with a weak moan. His eyes opened a crack, just enough for Áed to see the sliver of breathtaking violet beneath his lids. Hope flared in his body: Ninian’s state had improved from the night before, had it not? Perhap
s Áed’s efforts had worked, and the slim odds had prevailed. “Áed,” Ninian mumbled, and Áed clasped Ninian’s hand as tightly as he could. Ninian’s voice didn’t hold its ordinary cockiness or amusement. This voice came from a Ninian in pain.
“I’m here,” Áed murmured, trying to angle himself so that Ninian could see his face without moving.
Ninian coughed again, and another clot of blood flew like shrapnel from his mouth. “Good.”
Áed felt himself nodding, smiling. He couldn’t help it, just the same way he couldn’t help the tears that pricked at his eyes. His tongue felt thick. “Yes,” he said, as a drop of salty water slipped onto his cheek. “Yeah, mate, it’s good.”
Ninian coughed weakly. The sound was wet. “It hurts.”
“You’re going to be alright,” Áed said, and hoped that his voice sounded encouraging. A tendril of fear slipped into his mind and put a damper on the hope that had so recently soared.
Ninian’s starry eyes blinked, and the morning light from the window lent them clear, extraordinary lucidity. “I need to tell you something.”
“What?” Áed knew he sounded hoarse, but the fear in his voice showed anyway. Final words were for final moments, and that time simply could not be then.
Ninian’s own breathing was quick and shallow, all raggedy. “I didn’t tell you.”
Áed frowned, feeling his brow crinkle, but made himself wait for Ninian to speak.
“I’m so sorry.” Ninian’s words were fainter. “Áed, I didn’t mean to wait so long.” He coughed, and this time, a glistening trail of vibrant red dribbled over his lips. Áed felt his heart plummet to a rocky bottom.
The broken rib must have pierced Ninian’s lung. Just nicked it, probably, if he’d lasted this long, but… “Shh,” Áed whispered softly, trying to get his love to rest. “Quiet, Ninny.”
But Ninian didn’t seem to hear him. “It’s easy to forget,” he choked, hiccupping on blood, and shook his head clumsily. “I never forgot, but I waited, and the time never seemed right, and Gods, love, I’m sorry.”
“No, Ninian,” Áed managed. “No, don’t apologize. You don’t have to apologize for anything, not to me.”
“I have to,” Ninian breathed, and more blood dripped down his chin. “Because…” The blood on his lower lip smeared on his upper. “Because you don’t have it all, do you see… I never… never told you all of it.”
“I don’t understand, Ninian.” This time, Áed couldn’t keep the fear out of his voice, and it seeped into his tone like Ninny’s blood onto the floor. “You aren’t making any sense.”
“Shut up… and listen then. This isn’t… isn’t easy.” Ninian’s lips were coated in blood, like he’d been drinking it. “Your letter.”
Áed blinked, surprised. “My letter?”
“From your mother.” Ninian took a deep, shaking breath, which rattled in his chest and made Áed’s heart seize up. “I read it for you, but—” He blinked, and his expression turned confused for a moment.
“What are you saying?” It was impossible for Áed to keep down the panic in his tone.
Ninian’s hand, the one Áed wasn’t holding like a lifeline, dragged painfully to his head. His long fingers traced streaks of ruddy blood across his cheek and came to rest at his temple as if he was trying to hold his thoughts in place. “It’s my fault.” His eyes closed and Áed’s heart stammered in terror, but then they opened again, slowly. Ninian’s hair matched the iron-red blood that smudged under his eyes. “I was scared, love…”
Áed didn’t know what to say.
“I’m a fool.” Ninian laughed quietly, and blood spattered from his lips. A warm drop touched Áed’s cheek and stayed there. “I’m so sorry.”
“Ninian, it’s alright. Just be still, just rest.” He needed to convey the urgency—the absolute necessity—for Ninian to relax, to stop talking. He knew his words sounded desperate.
But then, another part of his mind murmured gently, you already know that it’s too late.
He blinked a fresh raft of tears from his eyes, but one fell anyway. It hit the drop of Ninny’s blood on his cheek and washed it down. There was no point in making Ninian rest.
“I’m sorry,” Ninian breathed. “I didn’t read you the whole letter. Áed, you’re not… everything you think. It scared me, it did, but my love…” His chest heaved with another cough, but a faint smile spread over his lips, full of surprising, lucid happiness. “I’ve said it now.”
Áed held Ninian’s hand as tightly as he possibly could. “Ninian?”
“Not… for much… longer.” Ninian’s smile widened, revealing blood-coated teeth, and his eyes locked onto Áed’s. “Tell Ronan it’s alright.”
“Nin,” Áed demanded, and the panic and desperation overwhelmed him as he leaned over Ninian, frantically brushing the blood off of his love’s chin as if he could undo it. “Ninian!”
But Ninian’s brilliant eyes were sagging shut. His lips moved, though just a whisper came out. “Áed.”
Áed shook his head helplessly. “What the hell, Ninian, you can’t do this to me.” Tears had earnestly begun their assault on his eyes, and they streamed down his cheeks. “Gods, no!” He shook him again, but Ninian’s face had slackened, and his hand relaxed limply in Áed’s grip. “Ninian!” Áed screamed, but over his own voice, he heard Ninian’s breath… stop.
“Please,” he heard himself begging as tears blurred his vision. “Please, Ninny, not like this. Not like this.”
His hands were covered in blood from the love of his life, both old and fresh, but now blood was no longer moving in Ninian’s veins. Air didn’t stir in his lungs, and not a twitch of movement animated his body.
“Ninian…” Áed pressed his lips desperately to Ninian’s forehead while anguish churned in his chest and stole his breath. It was a last plea—Please, Ninian. For me. Gods, Ninny, come back for me—but all he got was Ninian’s familiar scent, warm and comforting and sullied by the smell of blood. His tears spilled onto Ninian’s face and ran into his hair.
He let himself be dragged away as he felt Ronan’s small hands on his shoulders, separating him from the corpse and turning him away so that he could not see. Ronan was saying something, but Áed couldn’t hear what it was. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see through the tears, and he felt himself fall to his knees on the bloody floor as sobs ripped their way up from his heart.
CHAPTER FIVE
Surely years passed before his wracked body could breathe again. It felt like lifetimes more before he could see through the tears that veiled his eyes.
Áed rested where he’d fallen, curled up like an infant with his hands covering his face. Shaking, he moved them and found that he was facing away from the place where Ninian lay.
Dead.
Ninian was dead.
Áed used his wrists to push himself to a seat, inhaled a deep breath that tasted of rust, and forced himself to look around. How easy it would be to leave. To run down the narrow street to the Inner Maze, to find Morcant, and… what? Attack him?
Perhaps that would be best. Then Morcant would kill him, too.
He heard a faint sound to his right and turned to Ronan. Immediately, he pressed his lips together as he realized that he had fallen apart while Ronan suffered too. So much for protective instinct. He damned himself.
“Ronan,” Áed murmured, and Ronan turned his head and peeked out from under his bangs. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and his cheeks shone with moisture. As soon as he saw Áed sitting up, he uncurled himself, stumbled over, and collapsed once again to his knees.
Áed opened his arms, and Ronan fell into them and buried his face in Áed’s shoulder. Áed held him close, and the child trembled desperately. It seemed wrong that there should still be an Áed without a Ninian. But here was Ronan; he needed Áed to stay.
Ronan sniffled. “It’s my fault.”
Áed shook his head. “No. Don’t say that.”
“I should have done something.”
“There’s nothing you could have done, Ronan.” He pulled the boy back to look at him, and found that his tears were mirrored on Ronan’s face. “Do you understand?”
Ronan nodded minutely, but he, like Áed, had nothing to say.
✽ ✽ ✽
Neither soul moved from the flat, and neither stole anything more than brief, painful glances at the body that lay on the floor. The body whose russet hair flared out from its head like a halo and whose thin, strong arms lay motionless and stiffening by its sides. Whose eyes were open just enough to make the living uneasy.
Áed needed to do something about Ninian’s body.
Áed couldn’t stop his hands shaking. The haze of smoke over his vision was anger at Morcant, who had so casually struck the blow that robbed Ninian of life and robbed Áed of Ninian. The heat that sent shudders through his body was anger at himself for failing to see the extent of the damage. Was there truly nothing he could have done? His attempt to help had been useless. Crying was useless. The world had already taken everything he had, and now it had taken Ninian.
He needed to take care of the body. Respectfully, like Ninian deserved.
And here, he found himself hobbled. He fell short, like always.
He slammed his hands into the table, making Ronan jump, and felt pain course up his forearms. He drew back and did it again, and again; he felt bruises form on his left hand, and agony speared his right. With every blow, his scarred bones felt sharper against their stupid, ruined joints, and more tears brimmed in his eyes as he slammed his hands down harder, harder. He began to punctuate each blow with a word and brought them down faster and more forcefully: “I can’t—even—dig—a fucking—grave!”
He stopped and braced his hands on the table with straight arms, trying to let the pain distract him from his grief.
Ronan was staring at him with his mouth hanging open. The boy blinked, closed his mouth, and swallowed hard.