The Barrow Lover

by Patrick Todoroff

  The branches bow with fruit, clusters of plump blood silver hanging like a Judas-kiss, shivering me like a death sentence.

  She calls out again. "Airam? My love. Where are you?"

  Her voice yanks me back. I reach out to her quaking shoulders, words on my lips. "There, there. I'll help you."

  My hand grazes white ruffle. She spins, bristling like a cat.

  I jump back.

  It's all wrong; that loveliness has curdled. Her hair is crazed, her face fever-twisted, rancid with grief. There's a drench of red glistening stickily down the front of her damask silk. She's grinning like a dead hare, teeth bared over a neck gaping like a second mouth. Her hands snatch at me, claws to pull me in.

  I scuttle back, but she pursues. I stumble. Her eyes snap open: two seething blanks, blistering white coals of desolation and rage. I am ruined.

  "Where. Is. My. LOVE?" She shrieks the final word, neck and mouth in hideous concert.

  The sound guts me like a spear— keening from the chasm of hell. The wailing damned on the Day of Judgment. My heart seizes up.

  It's a scream to wake the dead.

  Or kill the living.

  She lunges for me.

  ***

  I flail in my bed like a drowning man and bolt upright.

  Moonlight is spilling through the window onto the floor. The cupboard is a humped shadow in the corner. The house is quiet save Paddy's soft snoring next door.

  My heart starts again and I'm alone in my room with that scream ringing in my ears.

  ***

  We took back the locket, Paddy and me, on account of Fade being dead and us being the original finders of merchandise not paid in full. We could have completed the transaction—the coins stacked on his counting board all neat and shiny—but Vicar Duffy assures us there's a special place in hell for pilfering stiffs. Even though Fade was barely cold, that sat a shade too near grave-robbing for my liking.

  So on the spot, Paddy and me branded our prior deal with the fat man a temporary exchange, like a loan, and I swore him to secrecy. "We're fair and square now, so not a word to another soul," I explained.

  Paddy nodded at my logic, spat solemnly, and we shook on it. After all, we'd gotten the better end of the deal. Why poke at it further?

  While Paddy ran to wake Mayor Tom and old Angus, the shire-reeve, I slipped the locket back into my jacket.

  Truth was, I had the strangest notion I shouldn't leave it, that I couldn't abandon her to the callow eye of some sour-faced magistrate or the light-fingered clerks who'd be divvying the dead man's earthly goods.

  It was in my cupboard now, wrapped in a sock under my second best pair of pants. Which after the dream, was uncomfortable close.

  Maybe I expected it to start thumping like a rabbit in a box, or for her to step out into my room, neck and all, coming for me with those hands and smoldering eyes. Whatever the case, sleep was done with me for the night.

  I sat in my bed peering at that sideboard 'til dawn crept through the dormers.

  ***

  Because Meechum Fade had been a landowner, his passing needed to be scribed at the county seat, at Daire on the coast. The mayor sent Willem, his eldest, on horseback to notify whoever needed knowing. Fade had no relations that any knew of, certainly none in County Crae, so no family meant no wake, and no wake meant there'd be a no big feed for weeping friends and reminiscing neighbors.

  Truth be told, near ten years in Carn, not a single soul could say they knew the fat man more'n "How do you do." I thought it a shame on both accounts, although I'd wager those in arrearage breathed a sigh of relief.

  The grieving have a saying about observances for the dearly departed: "High money, high mass. Low money, low mass. No money, no mass.”Now, I'm near certain Fade never dropped so much as a bent penny in the plate, but Vicar Duffy announced he'd hold a noon vigil for anyone interested in greasing the big man's passage to Abraham's Bosom. He even let them dig a hole in the corner yard on church ground. The liturgy and burying were slated for afternoon the following day. Best get the dead on their way, Vicar Duffy says. No sense lingering over an empty sack.

  He was one of the better ones, Duffy was. Short, stout, and ugly as a bulldog chewing a wasp, he hid a heart of gold behind a sharp mind and a sharper tongue. For the longest time, I thought all clerics were like him: part mean, part mad, part saint, part sad. Wasn't‘til I was older I learned how lucky Carn was to have him standing in for the Lord.

  After breakfast, Mayor Tom and Angus put me and Paddy through the wringer over the particulars of the previous evening. The dream had me stretched thin, but we stuck to the plan; the locket was ours. Those two fired a baker's dozen of the same questions over and over 'til we all were near tearing our hair out. Paddy stayed the course and I was right proud of him.

  Not that we were slinging smoke and shite; we saw lights, heard a yelp, barged in to render a hand. We just kept mum about the locket.

  The church bell was ringing when they finally let us go. "Apologies for the grilling, but we need our ducks in a row for this 'un," Mayor Tom pronounced. "Shame you lads had to find him freshly croaked. I'm proud you manned up and fetched us straight away."

  "Better'n later, after the body's turned," Angus grumbled. "Try corpse-duty after a battle. That'll tickle your nose hairs. Stench sticks on ya three days. Why, one time when I was in the regiment—"

  "Sobering thing it is, being reminded of your mortality," the Mayor said quickly. "Sounds like the Vicar's starting the service. I think we'd better let these lads get to prayers." He winked and shooed us out the door.

  Angus O' Hagan had chased Fichti raiders with the King's Own back when he had hair and younger knees. He claimed his limp resulted from a close call with a war axe, and after a swallow or three, was forever ready with the blow by blow of the famous incident. His wife blamed gout and was always after him to drop a few stone.

  Paddy and I ducked out the door faster than scalded dogs. "Don't be running off either," Angus called out. "In case we got more questions."

  "Where does he think we're going to go?" Paddy asked when we were down the street a pace. "This is the only home we got."

  We were walking up the church steps when I decided that was the smartest query I'd heard all morning.

  ***

  Noon Mass was exciting as watching paint dry; all mumbles, chants and candles. Still, a fair number of town folk came to click the beads for Meechum Fade. Perhaps some were thanking the Almighty for writing off their earthly outstandings and figured they'd do Fade a turn with his spiritual ones. All I know for certain is the Good Lord and his Vicar had mercy on us and kept it to an hour.

  Afterwards though, when Paddy went chatting after Fiona Sweeney out into the yard, I lingered in the nave. The dream had frayed me good and I needed gathering.

  The chapel was warm from the bodies, musky with incense and beeswax smoke. The colored glass windows glowed in the afternoon sun bright as iron straight from a forge. Hewn beams stretched through the dark ceiling like tree limbs, which set me thinking on her.

  To be honest, I never felt much sacredness during holy services. I know the catechism declares church to be hallowed ground, God's outpost where heaven touches earth, but filled with people, it's more a barn dance... only boring, in Latin, and with no dancing. Most folks don't thank God and mean it until the Vicar says the last "Amen".

  Being alone in church was a whole other kettle of fish.

  Soul's truth was if I went still for a minute, let the quiet settle over me, I felt watched. A penetrating kind of seeing, but not harsh. More like someone who knew me waiting on my next move.

  In that moment, I confess I hadn't a clue to what that was. The locket, Teagan's story, Fade's death, the smile ... yesterday swirled in my head madder than a swarm of bees. I was as forlorn as my murdered dream girl wandering the moon-shadowed trees, weeping for a lost lover.

  I was near lighting a taper to St. Anthony to help me find my right mind when Vicar Duffy
sidled up beside me. Second time in less than a day I near jumped out of my skin. "Shame it takes the dead to get you through these doors nowadays," he said.

  Took two breaths before I could give the Vicar a sheepish grin. "Figured I'd do right by the man, being one of the last to see him."

  He fixed me with a pointed look. "How'd that go, that last time you saw Meechum?"

  A sudden bead of sweat tickled my neck. I joked it off. "Well enough on my part. Seeing as I was still breathing."

  Vicar Duffy nodded, looked toward the altar. "My heart's been worried for you lately, Declan. You and Paddy." He turned back to me. "Any idea why?"

  That watched feeling dropped on my shoulders solid as two bales of hay, the urge to spill sitting even heavier.... but that would mean I'd have to own up to the locket, to nicking it back from a dead man, to the dream, the smile. Thieving and mad as a hatter—that wouldn't do. Muck of it would be on Paddy too.

  No.

  I managed to shake my head.

  Vicar Duffy held my gaze half a second, then looked back to the altar. "Well then, I'll keep praying God's mercy on you."

  We stood there, candles guttering, happy noises trickling in from the yard. The watching got heavier.

  Finally. "Vicar," I said. "I know the creeds, the Holy Writ, but..." I fumbled for the words. "Have you ever been... smacked by something that rattled you, threw everything you thought on its head?"

  That was the best I could do.

  Vicar Duffy didn't blink. "Of course, Declan. That's why I keep praying."

  "Well then, I could use a bit of wisdom, too," I said after a moment.

  He looked at me curiously.

  "No offense," I added quickly. "I mean so long as you're asking."

  Vicar Duffy laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. "Okay, then. I’ll add wisdom to the list.”

  We started toward the doors.

  “When are you going to marry Teagan Cooney?”he asked.“She’s a fine girl.”

  “Jesus Almighty!”I cried, then blushed.“Sorry Vicar.”I shuffled a bit.“The whole town know?”

  He nodded, holding back a huge grin.

  Flustered, I took off down the stairs and made a beeline for Paddy.“I’m working on it,”I called over my shoulder.

  “I’ll add that as well,”he shot back.“Just don’t belabor it too long.”

  ***

  Next day, I was stunned to see most of County Crae at the funeral. Word had spread. Guess if a decade planted in the same soil didn’t render a man friendly, it at least made him a fixture. Even if Fade’s memoriam was more like a tip of the hat to an old mill than actual mourning, the little stone church was crammed.

  The local notables were all preened and proper, present on the front row. Three generations crowded the pews all the way to the back wall, and I saw field hands kneeling on the steps. Dressed in our best, Paddy and I used our elbows and notoriety to carve out a good spot on the porch.

  The Vicar droned the usual "ashes to ashes" over a largish pine box, praying mercy on a soul that had been disinclined to either charity or cheer. Mercy being just that, I joined in the asking, especially on account of the locket stashed in my cupboard.

  Stranger still, the eulogy cleared a bit of fog surrounding Meechum’s history. Turned out he’d been a soldier in his early days, trading blows with the Norse, the Fichti, even the Franks. The big man ended up a sergeant at arms in the Royal Guard, in fact, and had been discharged with honors by Her Majesty, Queen Niamh. God only knew why Fade picked Carn to settle in, but he did. Of course this was a while back, before dotage and fever ushered King Arnaw into a marble sepulcher. The years had certainly padded Fade out a bit, but the steel in his voice the other night suddenly made sense. Funny, the things you never suspect in a man 'til it's too late.

  Niamh was Queen Mother now, perched in a fancy hall on the cliffs overlooking the harbor outside Daire. Her youngest son wielded the Emerald scepter these days, King Airam.

  Revelations continued after the service; indeed, it was a loaves and fishes miracle that anything at all happened after the burying. As soon as the first shovelfuls hit the lid, the Mayor popped up and invited everyone to Teagan’s for a repast "In honor of a hero of the realm and pillar in the community." A whoop and holler went round.

  Seemed Meechum Fade was set on leaving a good impression. Looking back, if I'd had a lick of sense, I'd have asked myself who was footing the bill, but never ones to pass on free food and drink, Paddy and I angled for Teagan's straightaway.

  My Da used to say, "Before, you're smart; after, you're wise. In between you're otherwise." Tough old bastard was right. I just hope I grab myself by the scruff of the neck before I jump hip-deep into another royal midden.

  ***

  Teagan's place was even louder and more stuffed than the previous day. Poor lass must have been slaving over the coals since I last seen her, the heaps of food weighing down the tables. It was like Christmas and Harvest feast combined.

  I was well into my second ale when I spotted the stranger.

  I didn't like him straight off. Wiry, dark, with a sharp beard and an oily sneer, he was standing with the Mayor and Angus, tankard in hand, sizing up the locals like a shepherd looks for mutton. The cut of his cloth was a giveaway, but all the bobbing and scraping made it plain he was someone of mention.

  I was reaching for a plate when Mayor Tom pointed me out to him. The stranger fixed me from across the room, eyes squinched as if he'd just nocked an arrow.

  Paddy chose that moment to clap me on the shoulder. "Almost wish Fade had kicked the bucket sooner," he said with his mouth full. "Quite the to-do."

  I answered without turning. "What do you make of that posh gouger in the corner?"

  Paddy swiveled his head like a goose. "Where?"

  "Jesus wept. Don't gawk," I hissed. "With Mayor Tom. He's staring at me."

  "Why?"

  "If I knew, I wouldn't be asking," I said. "You didn't spill, did you?"

  "No," Paddy answered. "You said not to."

  I stared at my plate, feeling bad for doubting him. "So?" I asked.

  Paddy looked at me, curious. "So...?"

  "So why's the hardchaw here? I've never seen him in my life."

  "You mean the man with the ferret-face and the fur trim cloak?"

  "Aye," I sighed.

  "Oh, he's looking for someone," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in all creation.

  "Who?"

  "You."

  Gooseflesh burred up and down my arms. I looked up sharply, right as Mayor Tom waved me over. The stranger had disappeared. I threw a quick look over my shoulder.

  Shite on a stick.

  I threaded my way through the crowd. The Mayor drew me in, cleared his throat all official-like. "Man in town today name of Odhran Kane, captain of the Queen Mother's Guard. He's come all the way from Daire to pay his respects to Fade."

  "Served with him guarding Her Majesty," Angus interjected. "Reward for proper soldiering, that is. I could tell Meechum was a hard man. Knew it the minute I laid eyes on him. It's the—"

  Mayor Tom waved the older man to silence, looked me square in the eye. "Ain't exactly the mournful type, this Kane. Truth, he's been hard with questions since he swung off his horse."

  "Questions?"

  "Vicar told him was Fade's heart gave out, but he's exacting chapter and verse on his death, his state, personal effects and the like."

  "Royal family paid for this spread," Angus pronounced. "They remember good service. Duty, loyalty, those are—"

  Mayor Tom pulled me out of earshot. I waited. He weighed his words, then continued. "Listen to me, lad. Kane demanded a word with you in the civic house."

  "When?"

  "Now."

  "Why me? I told you me and Paddy were—"

  "I know. I gave him your accounting but he's not one can be denied. Not by me at least."

  "What's he after then?"

  Worry etched the Mayor's face. "I don't kno
w, Declan, but don't trifle with him, you hear me? Odhran Kane is ill-set, dripping scorn like a leaky barrel. He was practically slavering to put the screws to Paddy, but I shied him off, insisting you were smart as paint and knew your place." He looked me in the eye. "Keep your head. And by all the saints, stick with what you told me. Unnerstand?"

  Mayor Tom nudged me toward the door before I could answer.

  I made sure Paddy was looking the other way before I ducked out. The Mayor was right; Paddy wouldn't last a second with a hard case like Kane. I'd promised myself and his folks I'd look after him. This was my to-do, not his. I slipped through the crowd and headed toward the center of town, dread gnawing at my bowels.

  Carn's civic house had been sired on an ancient mead hall, a veritable fortress from olden times, most likely raised for the first lord of these parts. Refit and gussied up over the years, the main oak and granite walls stood in my mind as staunch and hale as the Twelve Bens, the snow-streaked peaks that guarded every sunrise. Kane's rancor and the heft of them looming stones had it suddenly dungeon-like, more with every step.

  Even the man's horse was cross. Wearing tooled leather with silver jangles, a big black stallion was tied at the main door like a sentry. It flat-eared at my approach, then lunged at my shoulder, flaring teeth and nostrils.

  "Fook you, ya manky thing. Remind me to poison your apples."

  That there was what the Vicar would call a sign. I should have turned around right then. But never one to do things easy, the stubborn part slipped the rest of me past the post and on inside where I searched out Odhran Kane.

  A smart old dead fella once said, "The nail that sticks up too high is the first to get hammered." I figure the best way to deal with my betters is to leave 'em thinking they are, lest they start pissing from their high horses. Now I've met precious few men who actually deserved a bow, but a trembly feeling had me bobbing my head the second I crossed the threshold.