Gillean shuddered. His son was not one to lie, not even to avoid punishment when he was a child. Arlen was truthful to a fault, sometimes offering his opinion when it was not welcomed. It was Arlen who waited up those nights when Gillean would enter the then modest Faraday home with the rising sun. It was the sleepy eyed, six-year-old who snuck from the comfort of his warm bed to inquire of his badly behaved father where he had been, and didn’t he know that his staying out all night made Adara cry. Gillean would readily deliver the lies, or ‘explanations’ as he liked to think of them. Although not even old enough to attend primary school, Arlen knew all there was to understand about his egocentric father, and how he was slowly and methodically breaking his mother’s heart.
Dazed, Gillean laid his head against the steering wheel. The patter of rain steadily tapping against the metal frame of the car was like pointed allegations falling from the heavens.
“Da, are ya upset with me?”
Gillean could scarcely believe the forces that surrounded him, forces of beauty, love and goodness. Forces that were tied to his soul, his bloodline, and still he had hidden in the shadows. “Upset with you?” Gillean turned to his son, feeling both a master cheat and an ignorant victim. His son was bestowed with a special gift, one Gillean could not take credit for. He had never made the time to witness the magnificent spirit Arlen possessed. Was it merely an accident of the universe, or what Sully had been trying so desperately to convey—that these men were connected through time, space, heart, and soul?
“The lighted path was right in front of me all along, and yet I chose to drift in the darkness. I believed good and evil were synonymous with some uncomplicated idea of God and the Devil, and therefore far removed from me, an earthly man.”
Gillean had his son’s full attention.
“But, each of us has the capability to wield incredible power. Good and evil, right and wrong, aren’t so neatly identified with two separate beings as God and the Devil, are they?”
Arlen looked as if he were laboring over a complicated algebraic equation. “I think I know what ya mean.”
“So how do you see it?”
Arlen closed his eyes, apparently sifting through the choice of words to define his thoughts. “It’s like we aren’t at the mercy of some outside forces, but of ourselves—the powers we chose to tap into. And, sometimes we’re at the mercy of one another, like Sully was.”
“Like Sully is.”
Gillean could only imagine with compassion and revulsion what the little boy had endured, and how he was now being held hostage by Gillean’s mistakes. And yet in a most tangible way, Sully was part of Gillean, like his skin and blood. Sully’s tortuous experiences burned in the unlit corner of Gillean’s heart, the space reserved to stow the pain of rejection, failures, and fear. It was in the face of his enlightened son, and the way he extended an open heart to his father—despite all the hurt Gillean had inflicted—he could see his new road. The indestructible nexus to his soul mate wrapped around him, tethering him forever to past lives, the present, and the future he saw in his son’s empathetic eyes.
“This time it will be me, not my music, going out to Sully.” Gillean started up the car, undeterred by the earlier uncertainty of what he may find at the Vale. “I intend to offer him more than a belated apology.”
“I don’t think ya need to rely on any deities tellin’ ya what’s right, Da. Yer pretty good at figuring things out when ya actually pay attention.”
Arlen popped a CD of Gillean’s music into the player and settled back in his seat for the rest of the ride.
Fire and Music
Sully stared at the plate of toast and cheese in front of him with no appetite. A full month had passed since Gillean had returned to his family.
Time and silence mocked his loneliness, matching him step for step. It was like having an unseen, mute presence ever at his heels. He couldn’t sleep, eat, or focus. His heart and mind were somewhere else, leaving his body to fend for itself without the spirit necessary to carry on.
Sully pushed the full plate away, staring at the closed cottage door. He wished for someone, anyone, to appear and bring him news so he could go about living whatever life he was meant to. Gillean loved him, of that he was sure. Everything about him affirmed his devotion. The way his scent, like the sand and briny sea, clung to Sully’s skin, his munificent eyes bringing Sully to a place where he was sheltered and cared for; the taste of Gillean’s kiss, like rain on parched lips, granting rebirth in the waters of their shared commitment.
Life was as capricious as the wind and rain. Sully understood what his fellow humans, dwelling on this precarious plane of existence, had to endure in dealing with its vagaries. Love possessed the potential to catapult a person to the heavens, or set him falling haplessly from the stars, in the wink of an eye. He held no animosity towards Gillean for appealing to Adara, rather Sully respected his soul mate’s desire to be a support for her and a better father to his children. Gillean was changing and, after all, wasn’t that what Sully had been determined to bring about by barging into the musician’s life in the first place?
“Be careful,” Sully admonished to himself, depositing the plate and cup in the sink. “Be careful what ya wish for, lad.”
His words chilled him, and highlighted the stillness of the cabin that might be his home for many years to come. Growing old with Charlie was a complicated prospect. But it was one Sully felt he must at least consider, given that he had made the decision to be supportive of whatever choice Gillean made. He, Adara, and that remarkable young man, Arlen, were dearer to Sully than anything else. Still, the thought of losing half of his heart should Gillean walk away from Sully was an even more thorny notion, and one he could scarcely bear. Maybe he would take to the road. His broken spirit wouldn’t be so noticeable wandering among the countless others. Given time—that wily beast that stared him down at every corner—he might be able to master the art of simply living, giving of himself when and where he could.
Somehow, Sully didn’t feel up to the task of a philanthropist’s work at the moment. He was entirely a man who ached for his love. The most he could muster was the decision to help his charitable, but disorganized, host. He would make the trek into the so far unexplored second level of the cottage, and begin sorting through the menagerie of Charlie’s things in an effort to get the old codger functioning at full speed. Just last week, the man had been blustering on about how he could never find the proper tool when he needed it.
“Well, no wonder,” Sully had fired back laughingly, “ya keep hammers in the ice box and nails in the biscuit tin. At this rate the house will fall down around us while we starve to death!”
Before setting about his work, Sully remembered to place the tallow candle in the window in appreciation of Charlie’s watch over the Faradays. Ascending the stairs, which creaked in protest, Sully tried to empty his mind of other considerations save for the task in front of him.
There was much to keep him fully occupied. One glance could scarcely take in the entirety of his host’s worldly possessions. The large, dusty space was pervaded by rusty tools, peculiar looking gadgets—some of which Sully could not even identify—and newspapers dating back twenty plus years. He was surprised to see a long forgotten bookshelf which housed many handsome, leather bound editions of some of the greats: Shaw, Yeats and Wilde. But Charlie, knowing of Sully’s passion for reading, had opted to travel to the library each week rather than offer the well preserved copies in his possession.
Sully reached for one of the smaller volumes. It slipped from his fingers and fell to the floorboards with a resounding thud. His eyes watered from the dust kicking up. Sneezing and leaning down to grab the book, he noted an almost illegible scrawl on the front page. It was a dedication.
To my dear friend, Charlie, I cannot write of the people of Eire without your generous spirit rising up in my mind. May it be a great while until you leave this mortal earth. Always, J.J.
Sully blinked sev
eral times to clear the dust from his eyes, then turned the book to its front cover. Dubliners.
“Well, I’ll be…” Sully sputtered. He reverently returned the book to its resting—place. “So, ya befriended one of our greatest writers did ya now. And I…I’ve gone and complicated the life of one of our greatest musicians. No wonder I’m no longer counted among the angels. I should be counted among the dead.”
He eyed the priceless work of art one last time before plunging into a pile of dirty, paint stained rags concealing an aged, gnarled walking stick.
“I wonder who the hell this belonged to. St. Patrick?”
The hours passed swiftly with Sully rooting through the contents of the room. He was thankful not to have unearthed the proverbial genie in a bottle. Rubbing his grimy hands over equally filthy trousers, he surveyed the afternoon’s progress. He had successfully cleared a small corner, stacking the newspapers neatly in a half a dozen or so separate piles. He didn’t want to toss anything until he had gotten Charlie’s approval, but at least the necessary items, such as a well-used saw horse, assorted sized levels, and tape measures, were more readily accessible.
The first pangs of hunger nipped at his empty stomach, but physical and emotional exhaustion were uppermost. They were more prevalent even than his constant yearning for Gillean. Moving as if sleepwalking, he closed up the windows and practically tripped down the stairs to the main room. Unruly, saturated, black waves of hair obscured his bleary-eyes. He maneuvered the kitchen pump with minimal energy, scrubbing over his blackened hands with a bar of homemade soap.
Before removing his pants and sweat-soaked T-shirt, and mindlessly crashing into the little bed by the wood stove, he had the presence of mind to re-light Charlie’s candle. It was Sully’s way of keeping the connection, sending out whatever strength the angel might need to keep guard over Sully’s loved ones.
“The sleep of the dead,” he mumbled.
Outside, the leaves rustled with a swift, uneasy current of cold air. Limbs broke off from the trees. She carelessly trampled over the splinters in bare feet. The austere night, absent of the moon and his doting court of stars, was the only attire she had need of. The Vale had been spared the earlier gales and rain. The land surrounding her destination was dry as a decayed bone. The breeze brushed over her unclothed body like the hands of an eager lover.
Nature worked in her favor. This isolated, wooded locale would serve her perfectly, like every man she had enchanted. There was only one man worthy of her attention now, one who would deeply regret having crossed her. She was finished with deals, promises and games. Her time was limited, but she would be more potent than ever. Her waning powers would rise up like the last spray of fireworks, shooting their blinding colors to the sky before descending to the earth in burnt out flickers of fading light.
Behind her she left a trail of dead things; in front of her was the cottage of the primeval angel. She grabbed at the silver wind chimes hanging in the doorway. They rang out a final caution as she cast them crashing to the ground.
“Peace to all who enter here,” she said, spitting into her palms and reaching for the doorknob.
Naturally it wasn’t locked. She smirked and let herself in. The occupants trusted they would be protected from any external harm. It was they who offered protection to anyone in need who might come this way.
The first thing her coal eyes rested on was the white candle glowing in the window.
“How sweet,” she commented. “You think a single light will save you now, Sully?”
Sully’s body lay as still as a corpse while she walked about the room, waving her hands over objects. She wanted to take in every detail of these last moments of his life. They would serve as her only solace during the time when she would be without her powers—human, like all the other vile beings she loathed.
Satisfied by the picture stored in her mind of the doomed cottage, she turned her attention elsewhere. Flaxen hair hung about her curvaceous form, swaying with her as she edged closer to his bed. Her lips spontaneously turned upward seeing his discarded clothing on the floor.
“Oh my, little boy.” She leaned over, stroking his hair with her pointed fingernails and taking notice of his bare chest. “I can make this, your last night on earth, most worthwhile. Standing before you is every man’s fantasy of fresh womanhood and yet you sleep, no doubt dreaming of your aging lover.”
The candle flickered, casting grotesque shadows on the wall opposite the bed. Ciar’s silhouette depicted not the youthful, desirable woman of virile men’s dreams but a haggard, twisted, demonic nightmare. She slipped under the covers, but he remained motionless, immobilized by the secure net of slumber.
“Sully.” His sleek skin was a pleasurable surprise for her roaming fingertips. She whispered in his ear. “I’ve come to say goodbye.”
He turned his body to her, eyes closed. He was obviously making the transition slowly into wakefulness.
“That’s it, little boy,” she cooed. “Take what you want from me. I won’t begrudge you. Since it is because of you and our soured deal that I will soon be human, and you dead, why not partake of one another now? At least you will die knowing what it is to be pleasured by a woman.” She held her mouth against his, kissing him with anger and lust.
“Gillean?” he murmured, pulling away and waking from the force of a kiss that was not the tender offering of his soul mate.
“No, not Gillean. It’s just you and me.”
She leaned forward, resting her chin on his chest.
“Ciar!” His heart pounded in horror as he dove over her, hitting the floor hard in his ungainly landing. He hurriedly located his shirt and yanked his trousers over scraped knees, limping into the center of the room.
She called to him in a sing-song voice from her place in his bed. “You’ve been expecting me, no? Or would you rather I go straight to the Faradays?” Her smile was one of familiar manipulation as she came up on her knees.
Sully turned his back on her nakedness, thankful for the knowledge that Gillean and his family were safe.
“I know you believe that you and I have unfinished business,” he said, trying to keep things dignified.
She darted from the bed, knocking over the small table stacked with his nightly reading material. She seemed unaffected by pain as several books toppled onto her feet. She simply kicked them across the floor. “You believe?”
She snatched at him, her fingernails digging into his flesh. “You went back on your word. Imagine that! The man who is supposed to stand for the truth has told one monster of a lie.” Her eyes grew wide, saturated with a hatred so overt it seemed to splash onto him like a toxin, stinging his skin. “Gillean remembered you and what you two shared. You didn’t send him away, but pledged yourself to him. And Adara, you may have managed to be rid of her, but not before having a candid discussion! Yet another lie to me, I believe.”
She waved a finger in his face. “Did you forget I’m the one person you should never lie to?”
“Would ya look at the pot callin’ the kettle black.” He pointed a finger at her as if they were two children in a school yard trading insults.
“What?”
“Gillean asked ya to marry him, did he? Gave ya a ring that would choke a horse?”
He ran his eyes over her exposed body, the sight bringing nothing but absolute aversion. “He left ya high and dry, paints and all,” Sully mocked, positioning himself inches from her face. “Gillean Faraday never intended to make ya his wife. He saw ya for what you are—an evil, desperate creature. Ya made a deal with me under false pretense. I’d say that makes it null and void. Ya have no one to blame but yer pathetic self.”
She rung her hands, shaking with rage. “You promised you would keep clear of him the night I spared his life.”
“And so I did.”
“Liar!” she shrieked. “He was here, at the Vale with you!”
“He came of his own volition. I didn’t have anything to do with his visit. I did
n’t seek him out. And he remembered me all on his own too, despite your sureness he wouldn’t.” He walked away, surprisingly pleased at her lack of restraint.
“What’s the matter, old girl? Apparently, ya aren’t the only game in town. Ever think there just might be powers out there stronger than yours?”
“You don’t mean that absurd, wheezing, old angel?”
“I mean goodness, light and love.”
“Goodness.” She lowered her voice, sounding more like an animal on the prowl than a human. “Let me enlighten you about goodness. Once upon a time, dear Sully, you and I were born at precisely the same moment, worlds apart from one another. And we were both granted a soul mate.”
“You…and I…”
“Yes, once we were wholly equal forces on this earth. And Faraday—who, of course, wasn’t Faraday then—was your other half as it were.”
“Even before I knew of him as Gillean?”
“Even before you were that little urchin of a boy.”
Sully looked up, mystified by this latest revelation. “So, what happened to your soul mate?”
“That’s irrelevant,” she said, shaking her head and veiling her eyes behind a mass of golden hair. “Even soul mates can muck up. The bond isn’t as unbreakable as you assume it to be. Gillean became a self-seeking, materialistic man of the world and you…that’s why you two were separated, and you were granted special powers because of your suffering.”
Sully’s eyes flickered with notions that were lighting like so many sparks inside his head. “And you…”
For the first time he could see her as his equal, stripped not only of clothing, but of all subterfuge. He boldly pushed the hair from her face noting the shards of sorrow in her eyes.
“Were you separated from your soul mate because he or she inflicted the suffering?”
She was silent, allowing several moments to pass before her indignant response. “You’re so sure that it wasn’t I who caused the suffering?”
Blackthorns of the Forgotten Page 27