Lord of Shadows

by Alix Rickloff

  “I saw you with Mr. MacLir this afternoon.” Jane flashed her a wicked grin, fanning herself with a sudsy hand. “Now I’d marry him if he smelled like dead hippopotamus.”

  “Jane!”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought the very same thing, Sabrina Douglas. I see the way you look at him when you think no one’s watching.”

  Sabrina sniffed. “He’s a former patient. That’s all.”

  “Mm-hmm. So was One-Eyed Toby from the village who got that fishhook in his lip, but I never saw you gawk at him like that.”

  “Oh my, look at the time. I have to get back. Sister Moira’s taken a turn. I need to be there in case she wakes.” Sabrina motioned toward the sink. “Best get to it. That pot won’t scrub itself.”

  At which point wet suds caught her square in the face.

  Laughing, she grabbed up her tray. “See you back at our chamber later?”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it. If I know you, Sister Ainnir will have to force you to get some sleep.” Jane scoured the pot with vigor enough to put a hole right through the bottom.

  Tray in hand, Sabrina crossed the refectory. Up the stairs. Opened the door on a downpour, wind whipping the rain across the courtyard in sheets. Well, that was just perfect. She’d be soaked to the bone if she risked that mess. Nothing left of her dinner but mush.

  Turning back, she retraced her steps. If she took the upper corridor that ran past the offices she could come down the east stairwell. That would leave only a quick dash across to the main ward. She’d still get wet, but not sopping. And her dinner might even survive.

  The passage up here lay deep in shadow, broken periodically by tall rain-smeared windows casting wavery pools of gray over the floor. As usual, an eternal draft swept along, fluttering her kerchief, gooseflesh rising on her arms. Up ahead a door creaked back and forth in perfect spooky gothic fashion. Where were the ghostly moans? Rattling chains? A spectral lady in white?

  As she passed Ard-siúr’s office, a horrible, low, rumbly growl lifted the hairs at the back of her neck. The wind chose that moment to kick up, throwing rain like pebbles against the windows even as the growl rose in pitch to a whining, snarling hiss.

  She’d had to ask.

  The growl culminated in a frenzy of hissing and yowling, the sound of glass breaking, and a definite non-ghoulish, “What the hell—you bit me.”

  Ard-siúr’s cat zipped past her, tearing up the corridor followed by an enormous, looming body, black against the gray and silver shadows behind him.

  “Daigh?”

  He drew to a startled halt. “Sabrina? Is that you?”

  “What are you doing here?” Unease slithered up her spine. Could he be stealing? There was little in Ard-siúr’s office to tempt a thief. The treasures kept there personal, not profitable. Still, there might be enough to tempt a determined thief. And Daigh MacLir was nothing if not determined.

  “It’s naught to worry you.” He sucked the skin between his thumb and forefinger. “In your Ard-siúr’s office earlier, I had a flash of memory. A feeling I’d been there before. Something I knew. It sounds like madness, but I had to come back . . .”

  “That’s wonderful. What was it that triggered the memory?” She stood on tiptoe, peering over his shoulder into the dark room.

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. When I try to force it, I just come up against a damned hole. No recall. No memories.” Pain bit into the angles of his face, straining the muscles in his neck. “It’s driving me mad.”

  “Come. Let’s go in together.” Before she could think of the wisdom of her actions, she grabbed him by the hand, leading him into the dark office. Lit the nearest taper, the wick sputtering to life with a few whispered words.

  Nothing seemed out of place in the cluttered chamber. No obvious signs of disruption or theft. They stood together in the middle of the room, Daigh rigid with tension beside her.

  Hopelessness. Misery. Desolation. Confusion.

  His feelings hammered Sabrina in a relentless mental assault, a blinding headache shooting down her spine all the way to her toes. She fought to clear a space in her mind amid the cacophony of foreign emotion. Room enough to think of something beyond the slosh of her brain and the spots dancing before her eyes.

  “Are you all right?” His black gaze swung to her, the meager light flickering over his stubbled chin, aquiline nose, broad warrior’s brow.

  Her reply caught in her throat. She sought to tear herself free from his riveting stare, but found herself trapped. Unable to move. Barely able to breathe. For a fraction of a second, she felt a sense of falling. Wind rushing past her ears. Darkness closing in on her, and Daigh’s face filling her vision, though not Daigh’s face. He was different. But how? She’d no time to decide before he lurched away from her, breaking the dangerous connection between them.

  “Sabrina?” he asked. “What’s wrong? Answer me.”

  She recovered, suddenly as tired as if she’d been working in the infirmary for a week on no sleep. Eyes scratchy and stinging, muscles aching, the headache of before dulled to a continuous pounding throb at her temples. She still gripped her dinner tray, the everyday smells of ham and potatoes oddly comforting against the backdrop of darkness and mystery and magic that surrounded this man like an aura. “I don’t know. For a moment, I felt as if I might faint. And you were . . . but”—he frowned, his eyes like chips of obsidian in a grim face—“. . . never mind. I’m tired and I haven’t eaten. That must be it.”

  Without a word, he took the tray from her. Offered his elbow for support. “Come. It’s no use. I remember nothing.”

  She nodded, allowing him to guide her limp body. Leaning against him was like leaning against a tree. Solid. Unwavering. Though no tree she’d encountered had ever sent a tingly pleasantness buzzing up through her center. Or a warm blush touching her cheeks.

  At the door, he paused, leaving her to reenter the office. Bent to blow out the candle. For a long moment, he stood in the dark, staring round him, shoulders braced.

  “Daigh? We should go. You don’t belong here.”

  “You’re right, Sabrina,” he muttered. “I don’t belong here. That’s the only thing I do know for certain.”

  Pinching out the tiny flame of her candle, Sabrina closed her diary, having answered none of the questions scurrying through her brain like mice in a cluttered attic. Instead, putting her thoughts to paper only added to the bewildering array of puzzles. Daigh at the heart of every one like the center of some great black storm cloud. Who was he? What event in his past had caused the brutal scarring of his body? Why did he insist he knew her? Why was she suddenly experiencing flashes of another, armored Daigh? What was he doing in Ard-siúr’s office? Had he told her the truth about the memory? What was he hiding? And why did she have the eerie premonition that events closed in around them? Dragging her into his orbit whether she willed it or not?

  “Jane?” Sabrina whispered. “Are you awake?”

  A grumpy mumble floated up out of the dark. “I am now.”

  “May I ask you a question?”

  “You’ve already asked two. Three’s my limit for the middle of the night.”

  “Have you noticed anything unusual about Daigh MacLir?”

  “Everything about the man is unusual. Can I go back to sleep now?”

  “No. Listen. Ever since he arrived, I feel as if he holds some importance to me. And I to him.”

  Jane heaved a sigh. The mattress creaking as she rolled over. “He’s got the devil’s own looks and watches you with that possessive midnight stare of his. Have you never sensed desire before?”

  Sabrina squirmed beneath her blankets, her body awake to sensations she couldn’t put a name to. “It’s more than that. He breaches all my barriers. No matter what I do, I can’t keep him out. And twice now, there’s been more. I caught a glimpse of something. A vision. But it vanished so quickly I couldn’t tell you what I saw or if I even really saw it. It was Daigh, but it wasn’t. He w
as dressed oddly. From another time. Another age. And then tonight—”

  “So you woke me up to tell me you may or may not have seen something or nothing.”

  “Well, when you put it like that . . .”

  “You’re tired, Sabrina. You work too much and sleep too little. It’s no wonder you’re hallucinating. Sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  Practical, sensible Jane, the gods love her. “And his insistence in thinking he knows me? That he’s met me before?”

  A grumble that had nothing complimentary about it and then another heavy sigh. “He was pulled from the ocean full of seawater and with no pulse. I’d not trust anything he contends.”

  “So you think he’s mistaken?”

  “Have you met him before?”

  “No.”

  “Ever laid eyes on him at all?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “There. Now sleep. You and I have to be up at dawn. Good night, Sabrina.”

  She lay back, hands behind her head. Stared up into the ceiling, a nagging annoyance tickling the edge of her consciousness before snapping into place. “Of course,” she exclaimed. “His eyes. That was the difference. His eyes were green, not black.”

  “Green, black, or polka dots, go to sleep already,” Jane moaned.

  Teresa’s grouchy voice interrupted from the last bed in the row. “I’ll just be happy when Daigh MacLir leaves, and we can all go back to normal.”

  Sabrina shut her mouth, forcing herself to lie still. Even absent, Daigh played havoc on her senses. What was happening to her? Why was she feeling this way? And why did a return to normal now seem like the last thing she wanted?

  Sabrina hitched up her skirts. Hiked her bag higher on her shoulder. Placed one booted foot upon the fallen log. Wobbled, arms swinging out to balance herself.

  Beneath her, the stream churned against its banks, sending a muddy spill of water racing under the log. Upstream, broken tree limbs piled against an exposed root, caught in a growing dam of branches.

  “Aren’t we past these juvenile games?” Jane asked.

  “Enough out of you, Sister Brigh. Being a grown woman does not necessarily equal being a moldy old bore.”

  “Very well. But your grown self is going to end up soaked to the skin if you aren’t careful,” Jane warned.

  “But I’m being careful. And so will you.” She glanced back over her shoulder where Jane stood, arms folded, disapproval stamped upon her freckled features. “Come. You’re not a full sister yet.”

  Tapping her foot, Jane rendered a skeptical grimace.

  “Just.” With surefooted agility, Sabrina picked her way across the slick, knobby log. “Like.” Dropped back to the path, sweeping her friend a deep bow. “That.”

  Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Jane stepped onto the log. “You’re completely incorrigible.”

  Sabrina shot her a grin. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  Rolling her eyes as she bobbled her unsteady way across the log, Jane joined her friend on the path. “It’s getting late.” She darted a nervous glance at the encroaching wood. “I wish you hadn’t taken so long with Mrs. O’Brian. We should have been home by now.”

  Dusk filtered gray and purple through the trees. Drew long shadows in the spaces between. Branches scraped in the rising wind, clouds flattening low and angry across the sky. Rain and the damp, moldy pungency of earth scenting the air.

  “Babies don’t exactly wear watches,” Sabrina replied. “As it was, it was a very short labor so be happy for small favors. We might have been there all night.”

  “At least then we’d have been traveling in the morning. It’s awfully dark through here.”

  “Come along. If we hurry we might still be in time for supper.” Sabrina grabbed Jane’s hand, and the pair hurried along the narrow winding track. Never noticed the strangers until they’d stepped into the path. Others drawing up behind them like specters.

  “Sabrina?” Jane’s fear trembled her voice.

  “It’s all right.” Sabrina’s gaze moved over the filthy, matted features of wild, landless men. “They wouldn’t dare harm us.”

  She lifted her head. Let their greasy, hollow gazes slide over the snow-white kerchief covering her hair. The somber habit. Let them conclude they’d not grown desperate enough to molest a pair of holy women.

  A bone-thin man in torn trousers and a shirt that looked as if it had been made for a much stouter figure stepped forward. Sabrina’s throat closed at the flash of knife glinting in his fist.

  The countryside crawled with gangs of destitute peasants turned off their land. Rumors of the crimes committed by these bandits were a common staple of daily gossip. Ard-siúr warned all to take care upon the roads and travel together when leaving the protection of the demesne. But she and Jane traveled upon bandraoi land. The village only a half mile beyond the last field’s border. They should have been safe. Should have been out of harm’s way.

  Her heart thrashed against her ribs, her mouth dry and sticky. Should-have-beens were useless. What she needed were steady nerves and a plan. Any plan. But all her whirling, panicked mind did was curl into a ball and pretend to be dead. Hardly helpful.

  “Hand over the bag. And aught else of value,” Bone-Thin Man demanded.

  From behind, a dirty hand slid around her waist. Drew her close, a hiss of sour breath against her cheek. A barrel’s dig against her ribs. “Do as you’re told. Isn’t that what them women teach ya? Obedience?”

  She dragged her bag from her shoulder to the ground. She might be brave, but she wasn’t foolish. They could have it, though they’d find little of use among the medicines it contained. “That’s all we have.”

  Jane whimpered, her freckles standing out in splotches against her white face.

  A second man closed in. Tipped her quivering chin to the light, a leering gleam in his eye. With a wrench, he tore the kerchief from her head, hair spilling in a copper wave down her back. “I say we take more than a few measly coins and a trinket or two. Probably starved for a man, they is. Like a good ride? Eh, pet?”

  Jane’s eyes darted wildly, her body visibly shuddering.

  The sight of her friend’s panicked terror ignited a spark of defiance in Sabrina. A spark that caught. Flared and sizzled in her like a sputtering candle. She glared. If only the flames heating her blood could shoot straight from her eyes. “Take your hands off her.”

  The man’s slimy attention swung her direction. “Jealous, are ya, pet?” His crude braying laughter touched off the others, who snorted and stamped their approval of his wit. “You’ll have yer turn soon enough. There’s plenty of us to go round.”

  “Take care. You address a lady.”

  The familiar, menacing growl punctured Sabrina’s swelling terror. Sent her peering into the dimming gray light for signs of her savior.

  It couldn’t be. She’d last seen him under the watchful eye of Sister Liotha, raking down straw for the cows. She must be mistaken. But oh, how she hoped she wasn’t.

  A shadow glided among the trees. Huge. Dark. Silent as a wraith. Never emerging from the overgrowth, but always there. Watching. Waiting.

  “Show yourself, friend,” Bone-Thin Man shouted, his knife steady, his eyes narrow and searching.

  “Let the women go. Take yourselves off.” Clipped, battle-edged tones. A quiet confidence, so different from the nervy bravado of the men.

  The bandit scoffed. Spat in the dirt. “I’ll not be takin’ orders from a coward what hides in the bushes like vermin. And if you won’t reveal yourself, I’ll have my men flush you out. Then we’ll see what’s what. And who’s givin’ the orders.”

  He motioned at his comrades, who fanned out into the shrubbery. Two dropping back. One beating aside the undergrowth with the barrel of a rusty blunderbuss. Jane’s tormentor twitched his reluctance, but released her to crash into the bracken alongside his compatriots.

  Slimy kept a firm warning hold on Sabrina, thou
gh his attention was all for the woods.

  Dusk deepened, the heavy gray fading into night. Trees black and clawing against the sky. Cold rain spattering through the branches. Calls from man to man all that broke the unnatural stillness of the scene.

  Suddenly, a flock of chattering starlings rose in a whirr of wings as a scream ripped the silence. Ended just as abruptly.

  “Abe?” Bone-Thin Man jerked one way then another, hunting the wood. His knife whipping the air. “Kelly!”

  A crash of branches. A grunt and whoof of spent breath. No answer.

  The remaining men crowded closer together like a herd sensing danger.

  Slimy wrenched Sabrina close. His pistol’s barrel chilling her neck. “Come out or the sister gets hers! Call him, Sister. Tell him I’m meaning business.”

  She opened her mouth. Squeaked. Swallowed and tried again. “Come . . . come out. Please, Daigh.”

  “Yes, come out, Daigh,” he mocked in a sneer that turned her stomach. “Please.”

  “As you will.” An enormous, looming shadow detached itself from the darkness like some creature from the deepest Unseelie abyss. Eyes, hellish pits in a grim face. A body rippling with raw magic. This wasn’t Daigh. This was some horrible, distorted version of him. He bestrode the roadway not like a bewildered shipwreck victim, but like a warrior who knew his business. Knew it and enjoyed it.

  “Let them go.” His quiet command holding more violence than any shouting threat could. And even unarmed, danger simmered in the air around him. “Or join your friends.”

  The men’s focus was all on Daigh for the moment. She’d not get a better chance. “Run, Jane,” Sabrina hissed. “Run for help.”

  Jane moaned her terror but did as instructed. Darting beneath the cursing reach of Slimy. Swerving past Daigh as if he were the devil himself. None stopped her. All eyes riveted to the monstrous, grim-featured goliath blocking the path.

  The remaining ruffians closed ranks to meet this intruder, only Slimy staying back. Holding Sabrina in front of him like a shield.