Blackthorns of the Forgotten

by Bree T. Donovan

  The room was beginning to spin.

  “’Tis not the time for you to know yet!” she crowed. “But when that time does arrive, your decision will make all the difference. It could mean her life too.”

  “Am I askin’ too much for a little more clarity? Ya are askin’ for me existence here.” He propped himself against the wall for support.

  She followed, shoving her body against his. “I will make things crystal for you, lover. But since I do so treasure our rendezvous, I’ll come to you later and fill you in. This is your test, Sully. We’ll see if you can actually live up to the moral imperatives you so readily espouse.”

  He squirmed. “Ya expect me to agree to a deal when I only have half the cost?”

  “Need I remind you of your penchant for disobedience? This way I’ll have assurance that you will keep your distance from Gillean. Agree, or you can forget about him taking another breath.”

  He was going to play the hand he was dealt, but not before slipping a little something from up his sleeve. “I’ll agree to whatever ya wish.” This time he didn’t look away from her contemptuous eyes. “Provided that if Gillean should want to leave you, ya must promise ya won’t stand in his way. Yer contract with him and Adara will be null and void.” His face mirrored composure and purpose.

  She glowered at him. “You have the gall to place such a condition on me when I am being so generous as to give you this chance?”

  Sully moved to the other side of the room, away from where Gillean lay. “’Tis not I ya’re givin’ the chance to, but yer prize. Take it or leave it, darlin’.”

  “You think you have any ability to bargain with me, miserable boy?”

  “I suppose were done here.”

  Ciar’s lips twitched slightly. “I’ll agree to your condition. He’ll never leave me. And you can never make contact with him. You should also bear in mind that, being human, you will die at some point. And because you will have, for all intent and purpose, made a deal with the dark side, you will no doubt have to answer for that fact when you do.”

  He eyed her with wariness. “How do I know I can trust ya to keep your end of the bargain?”

  “I am bound by the same powers you are.”

  “Clearly you and I don’t work for the same side,” he said, examining the damage to his hands

  “No, but we are obligated by some basic laws. If either of us were to break the promise, we would be subject to punishment from our higher powers. Which means you cannot, under any circumstances, reveal to Gillean who you are, or were.”

  “And if he seeks me out?”

  “He won’t remember you, but if your paths should cross, you are obligated by the truth of your vow.”

  “I am already bound to the truth,” he objected.

  She was at his side, purring in his ear. “You don’t know how far you have to fall, my sweet. You will be impelled only to your vow to me. As a human, you can do whatever, and whoever, you want. It won’t much matter, considering where you will end up when you die.”

  “What if he should remember me?”

  “He won’t. Now make up your mind. I’m not waiting around here much longer.” She paid no heed to the unconscious Gillean as she made her demand.

  Sully cast his eyes on Gillean’s prone body. He was sure. This was not how it was supposed to end for him, even if Gillean had come to Ciar willingly. He must furnish Gillean this one last chance.

  “Alright.” he confirmed. “Ya have a deal.”

  Ciar squealed with delight. “Very good! And since you are being so much the martyr, I tell you what I’ll do. I’m going to let you keep all your memories and experiences with him and his family. But, as I said, Gillean will have none of you.”

  “That’s big of ya, I’m sure.”

  “And you can keep those burns too, just to remind you of how human you are. You won’t be playing your detestable fiddle anytime soon.” She puckered her lips like a spoiled child. “And you and Gillean will have nothing to create together.”

  “Get on with it! Bring him back!”

  She pointed to where Gillean lay. “That’s something you have to do. Your life in exchange for his. Put your hands over his heart.”

  Sully did so, resting his hands against Gillean’s bare chest. He silently willed the man to open his eyes.

  After a few seconds, which seemed more like hours, Gillean began to moan and stir. His eyes fluttered open then shut again as he struggled to awaken.

  “That’s it, Sully, say your goodbyes.”

  Her voice was fading, as was everything else in the room. He leaned into Gillean’s ear, as if following her directive to bid farewell to his charge. Ciar unwittingly provided the key. He used the last of his powers to whisper words that only Gillean would understand. Sully prayed Gillean would remember.

  His world went dark, briefly, and then he found himself shivering in the middle of a field at sunrise, unable to move his useless, charred hands. A not so welcoming farmer was standing above, poking a shovel at him.

  “Blasted no good tinker! Catch up wit da rest o’ yer caravan and get off me land!”

  Back in the world Sully had just left, Gillean woke feeling exhausted and sore. The exploratory hands of his lover did much to sooth his mind and body.

  “Good morning, sweetheart.” She kissed him deeply.

  But something else cradled him, something close to a memory but without recognizable form. Words? What were they—Gaelic? They eluded the focus of his mind, hiding just beyond his consciousness. But he could hear their cadence, like a song. Was it a song?

  “Why do I feel so…strange?” He touched her face.

  “Does this make you feel better?” Ciar pulled him to her.

  ~~~

  Adara woke with a start. Something was wrong. After checking to see that all her children were safe and still asleep, she rang Gillean’s mobile. Getting no answer, she dashed off into the meadow, in a mad search for an angel.

  Paths

  Charlie the Archangel lumbered up the steep hill. The thickset man, tall and built like a pedigree bull with high, black boots, trampled the early spring flowers with the power of a road roller. Being somewhat preoccupied, he failed to notice the lovely bloom of clovers, daffodils and harebells standing out in splendor against the fresh green of the meadow. Pale blue eyes, the color of his well-worn overalls, rested beneath full, white brows. He set his sights on the dirt road ahead.

  The morning sun, aligning perfectly with the horizon, shone directly on his weathered face. He lifted a callused hand to block out the blinding light. The lost one he was searching for must be near. Charlie’s instructions provided little additional information. He was told he must locate a former angel and take him in. This lost one had ventured into unexplored territory as far as angels were concerned.

  The robust, heavenly being, who stood six feet six inches tall, cringed as he recalled what he had been told of the treacherous route the renegade angel had embarked upon by making a pact with another man’s demon.

  Charlie had been an angel for over a hundred years. He lived among humans, working alongside them, and appearing as any other mortal, assisted them within the well established parameters he was given. There had been some challenging assignments to be sure, and yet he had never felt the temptation to step so far into a human’s life as to be forced to exchange his own existence. The very idea made him quiver.

  This staid quality made him the perfect candidate to handle such an intricate job. Charlie never questioned orders, never bucked against the tide. He was nothing if not faithful and reliable. He was certainly curious, and a bit nervous about meeting such a gutsy and cavalier angel. What would such a being be like?

  Stumbling over a soft, unmoving object huddled in the dewy grass, Charlie swung around to see what his foot had touched upon, expecting it to be a chunk of loose peat. To his horror, Charlie stood above a person.

  The stranger’s clothes were covered in dirt. Greasy dark hair fell across th
e profile of a face, making it difficult to judge his age. But what struck Charlie most was the vulnerable nature of the individual. It appeared he had been set upon by thieves and left for dead. He assumed the man must have been beaten into a state of unconsciousness.

  Bending his huge frame with some difficulty, Charlie knelt and placed a hand on the victim’s shoulder. He did not stir. Applying slightly more pressure, Charlie shook the lad who shivered uncontrollably. He moaned and writhed in the grass.

  Turning on his back and in a defensive gesture, the young man placed scorched hands covered with bubbling blisters over his bruised face.

  Charlie gasped. “My God, son. What happened to ya?”

  The man mumbled incoherently and rolled over, still trembling and keeping his back to Charlie.

  “Ya need help, lad. Where are ya from? Can ya tell me yer name?”

  Charlie wasn’t sure if the wounded man was conscious enough to understand him. He repeated his last question in Irish. “Please, what’s your name?”

  The reply came from chattering teeth. “S…S…Sully. Now leave me be.”

  Charlie placed a hand over his gaping mouth. Sweet Jesus, he thought. So this is the lost one. God help us both.

  ~~~

  “He’ll be lucky if he makes it through the night. I wouldn’t even advise hospital at this point.”

  The words settled over Sully like an obscure fog. He was unaware that Charlie carried him a full three miles, back to a modest cottage and summoned the local doctor to see to his grave state of health. The physician followed his pronouncement with a somber shake of his head.

  Fever raged throughout Sully’s body due to the severe infection brought on by the burns. He spent the next four days shivering and sweating, tossing in and out of a restless, disturbed sleep. Charlie stayed by his side, administering medication and quiet prayer.

  During this time, Sully experienced the most vivid dreams. The participants were always himself and Gillean. The latest one found himself and Gillean in a curragh. The choppy waters roiled with viscous, hot liquid. The two men did their best to navigate the unsteady vessel, not knowing in which direction they were headed. The sky above was an illegible map of smoky darkness.

  Sully shouted to Gillean that he needed to apply more muscle, warning that it would take their combined efforts to free the boat from the muddy waters. But Gillean simply folded his arms across his chest looking exhausted and beaten. He sat humming a melancholy melody all but forgetting Sully was there.

  Sully did his best to steer, but the wooden oars imbedded themselves into his hands. The pain was awful, yet he could not release his grip. He feared that if he did, they both would be lost to the ravenous waters forever.

  They traveled into rougher seas, the little craft threatening to capsize, but Gillean remained unresponsive. An impenetrable mist impeded Sully’s view. His hands began to smolder. He cried out in horror and pain.

  “Let go, Sully.” Gillean’s melody took on words. “Let me go.” He sang as if rendering a lullaby.

  “Gillean!” Sully called out.

  Waking from his frantic dream, Sully thrust his hands into the air. His bleary eyes bringing into focus two white clumps in front of his face. He tried to speak, but his tongue was trapped inside his mouth. His cracked lips parted allowing only a guttural sound.

  One large hand belonging to a towering, older man tilted Sully’s damp head towards a tin cup.

  “Take a sip of this now, lad.”

  With no choice but to drink, Sully opened his mouth, feeling the cool, fresh water trickle down his parched throat and chin.

  “That’s got it.” The man let Sully’s head rest once again on the pillow.

  Wondering if he had the ability to speak, and if he were still dreaming, Sully attempted to form a word. Looking at his bandaged hands gave him the impetus to release the question. “What the hell happened to me hands?”

  His host dragged what looked like a carpenter’s bench across the room, sat on the edge of it, and peered into Sully’s face.

  “Ya burned them pretty badly, son. Doctor said he never seen anythin’ like it. Yer lucky to have any skin left on ’em at all.”

  Fresh pricks of pain stirred beneath the bandages at the man’s words. His companion leaned over the bed. “Can ya tell me what happened to ya?”

  “I…”

  The entire incident with himself, Gillean and Ciar played itself out in a matter of seconds in his mind. It was too fantastic to believe. Although his recall rang true, there was still an undercurrent of doubt. His eyes teared as they tried to stay focused on the anonymous man. How did he fit into the mix?

  “Ah! Don’t bother yerself with it all now, man,” the sizeable elder interjected into his thoughts. “Ya have come through the worst if it. That’s what matters. There will be time to talk later. For now ya should rest.” He began to rise from the bench.

  Sully, too weak and disoriented, merely stared at him with pensive green eyes.

  “Do ya want me to notify anyone of yer whereabouts?” the man asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Surely der is family to be missin’ ya.”

  Sully closed his eyes. “No,” he said above a whisper. “No one.”

  Charlie scratched at his silver hair. “Ya were calling out for Gillean in yer sleep. I imagine she is someone who would want to know where ya are.”

  If he had enough spirit, Sully would have laughed at Charlie’s incorrect assumption. But, Gillean’s face was all Sully could see. “It must have been a dream. I don’t know anyone by that name.” He kept his eyes shut tight.

  “I can’t imagine ya know much of anythin’ right now,” Charlie offered with understanding. “Get some rest, and it will become clearer to ya.” He pushed the bench back against the wall. “By the way, me name’s Charlie. Looks like you’ll be stayin’ here for the time bein’. I could use the company and the help.”

  “Help?” Sully’s unbelieving eyes were on the hefty man.

  “Sure.” Charlie’s smile was as expansive as his chest. “While yer on the mend, I’ll be puttin’ ya to work. Not right away of course. Good, honest labor does wonders to get a man back on his toes. You’ll see.”

  Sully was exhausted. He couldn’t imagine taking a step out of bed, let alone perform any kind of task.

  “I’ll be back shortly to fix ya some tea and toast. I just need to tell the doctor yer awake and alive. He thought ya wouldn’t last a night, but I knew better. I told em ya must be a fighter!” Charlie’s tone was light, but his face somber. “Ya must be quite the fighter indeed, Sully.”

  The following two weeks passed slowly. The heavy hours dragged Sully along like an unwilling passenger.

  Time was something he had in spades, too much of it for reflection. Seated in a keenly crafted rocking chair, Sully surveyed his cramped surroundings. Charlie was in the habit of leaving after their morning tea, explaining that he traveled into town to take work orders from those who needed furniture restored, houses or barns painted, or the odd repair job undertaken.

  Charlie was the local handyman, getting his work where and when he could. This would account for the sparse cottage the older man called home. The impressive number of tools scattered about—hammers left on the kitchen table, rusty handsaws set on benches, coffee cans which rested on the windowsills and filled to overflowing with assorted sized nails—were in direct contrast to the Faraday mansion. No freshly cut flowers scented the stale air. Sully rested in one of three modest rooms on the first floor, a far cry from the numerous, professionaly decorated rooms of Gillean and Adara Faraday. No pictures of beaming children or relatives of any kind adorned the aged walls that were in serious need of stripping and new paint. The floor above served as Charlie’ workshop. Sully had no desire to explore what he imagined to be a dusty, tool-strewn loft.

  It was obvious that Charlie felt it more important to see after others than to serve his own needs. Sully was uneasy about the fact that a ma
n of such humble means would be saddled with the burden of a failed angel, although Sully had no reason to believe that Charlie knew the truth.

  The minutes of each day could be counted like the beats of an ailing heart, deliberate and determined—pulsing, tormented memories, lucid and petrifying, inside Sully’s head. He’d fallen woefully short of all his lofty goals. Yes, he offered himself for Gillean, but it was purely a calculated risk in an elaborate, spiritual card game.

  Ciar, despicable as she may be, could correctly read Gillean whose life had become like a foreign language to Sully. The musician and the music that once spoke so clearly to Sully’s soul had devolved into a jumble of odd and disconcerting notes. Sully’s offering had, no doubt, been made in vain, like so many superstitious sacrifices.

  The Celts were a people long believing in spirits that inhabited all things: the ancient trees, the ever-present wind, the delicate blades of grass. But even these munificent agents of good had abandoned Sully, he supposed for the disgraceful display of verve in thinking he could take on the likes of Ciar, and the awesome potency compressed into the desire of one unfulfilled man.

  He stared at his fastidiously dressed hands. The unrelenting pain was most peculiar. He wanted to refuse the little blue tablets Charlie foisted upon him every few hours. The pain should be part of his punishment. Hadn’t Ciar told him it was to be a constant reminder of his humanity? He felt every ruined nerve ending, locating each by the steady pulsing of their fire.

  The door opened, blowing in a sudden spring rain and a slightly soggy Charlie. Boots and jacket were off in a hurry, tossed into a pile near the hearth by which Sully waited.

  “Agh! Sure I hate it when the sky hurls down a shower on a man without warnin’!” He shook his body like a sheep dog.

  Sully smiled shyly. “The powers that be have their way of always stayin’ one step ahead of us.”

  Charlie placed a wet paper sack on the kitchen table, giving Sully the once over. “I’d say ya are a notable opponent to the powers, young man!”

  “I hardly think so.”

  Charlie primed the small indoor pump and readied Sully’s medication. He then stacked the hearth generously with dry wood and started up a warming fire. Rubbing his arthritic hands briskly, he addressed his despondent guest in the rocker. “Now don’t start talkin’ like a man’s who’s been beat. That for sure isn’t you!”