by Lisa Henry
Rabbit lifted his head. His eyes were full of tears. “I’m sorry. You said if anyone came, but it was jus’ Garvan. At first it was. I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t.”
Rabbit blinked furiously. “Did we make the Dagda angry, Ciaran? Did we wake him from sleep?”
“We didn’t,” Ciaran said. “No, he’s not angry with us.”
He wondered, suddenly, if Rabbit’s protein bar wrapper was still fluttering somewhere in the breeze. So much for that paltry offering.
“They’re going to tie you up,” Ciaran said. “Don’t struggle, or they’ll make it so tight it hurts. And when …” Jesus. He had no idea how to say this. “Later, when Boru … when it happens, try not to struggle then, too. It makes him angry if you do. When it’s done, I’ll look after you as much as I can, all right?”
Rabbit’s gaze slid past him, became unfocused. “Garvan’s not coming back.”
“You and me now,” Ciaran reminded him. Over Rabbit’s shoulder, he could see Michael approaching with the rope. “You and me.”
“You and me, so,” Rabbit repeated dully. He blinked again as the rain began to patter down, wetting his black, boyish eyelashes.
“Noel, where’s the supplies? I’ll want a full belly before I take the both of them inside,” Boru said. “Have this virgin hole before any of you brutes ruin it.” Boru’s men let out a forced laugh at his joke. “But then it’s all yours. Unless I decide I like it better than Boy’s, and then you can have him, instead.”
But you promised… Ciaran couldn’t even muster any outrage. He wasn’t surprised, not really. He knew better. He just held Rabbit close to him, ignoring the bite of the gold cuffs around his wrists and arms, and felt the rain fall.
The rain began again as Darragh headed down the road towards the village they had passed through earlier. Couldn’t leave Ciaran—wouldn’t—but he needed to stop and regroup, and better to do that under shelter than in the woods. Maybe even find some place to stash his pack so he could move faster and come back for it later. With Ciaran.
Darragh splashed through a puddle.
Noel had given him a knife. A knife, and an invitation: “Come back near the king’s camp tonight, and there’ll be trouble.”
Darragh remembered suddenly what Noel had said back in Dublin, at Boru’s Sacrificial Games. “Tonight, anything might happen.”
The rat queen. Had Noel been the traitor in the king’s court all along? If so, what did he expect Darragh to do tonight? If there was already some plan in motion, what was Darragh’s place in it? No matter. He’d get in, bury the knife in Boru’s chest, and get Ciaran out of there. And then he’d take him wherever he wanted, whether it was to the North, or … not. God, could he hope for that? Could he even dare?
Well, he’d either get Ciaran out or die trying. Wouldn’t just walk away and leave him there.
Darragh stopped as he approached the village. In one of the abandoned houses, there was a light. Fire. Had lightning struck and caught?
No, that was a man-made burn. Contained and welcoming. Welcoming, except who had lit it? Darragh hesitated, but it was too late to turn back. He’d already been seen.
“Hey! King’s man!” A man darted out of a shadowed doorway, holding his hands up to show he carried no weapon. “Why aren’t you dead yet?”
One of Garvan’s men, Darragh supposed. “He let me go.”
“Mad fucker let you go?” The man squinted at him through the rain. “You hungry then? We got a rabbit in the fireplace.”
“I’ll not go anywhere with you,” Darragh said.
The man shrugged. “I’ve no argument with you, friend. Meat and a fire inside if you want it. Maybe even some conversation. We’re jus’ resting our legs ’til Garvan gets back from his parlay with the mad king. Might as well join us.”
Garvan. Yes, Darragh would like a word with that cold-blooded bastard. He nodded brusquely, glad for the knife in his belt, and followed the man inside the shell of a house. The warmth hit him first, and then the smell of roasting meat.
Three men sat inside. The one who’d spoken to Darragh sat with them and gestured at the fireplace. Darragh stood in front of it, his damp clothes steaming slightly.
“You’re Boru’s traitor,” one of the men said.
“I am.”
“And he let you go free?”
“His boy bargained for my life. So I live. For now.”
“His boy. The one you stole from him.”
“That’s right.”
“But why? Why steal from the king?”
Darragh dropped his pack on the floor. “Because he wanted to be free.”
And I love him.
The men fell into silence for a while. Then the one closest to the fire said, “He’s an evil fucker, Boru.” Agreement rumbled through their small assembly.
“Not all of us wanted to sell yous to him,” another man said. “I didn’t. I said we should stop fucking licking that fecker’s boots and let yous go, and if he didn’t like it, he could kiss our arses one by one.”
“Fuck off,” said the man closest to the fire. “You try saying that again when you’ve little ones of your own in camp.” He glanced at Darragh. “We do it because otherwise it’s our women and children he’ll take for slaves. I won’t apologise for that.”
Darragh sat down on his pack. “I don’t blame you,” he said, and discovered it was true. What if it was his people who were under threat like that? “But he’s up at Newgrange now with only eight of his men with him. And one of them’s also a traitor.”
The men glanced at one another and at him. “How do you know one of his men’s a traitor?”
Darragh lifted up his shirt. “Because he slipped me a knife and told me to come back at night.”
“Eight men,” one of the bandits mused.
“Eight men or none at all, it makes no difference,” said another. “Kill Boru and his men’ll come pouring out of Dublin screaming for our blood.”
“Is that what you think?” Darragh asked him. “You don’t think their loyalty will end with his death? They’re as scared of him as everyone else. I’ve seen that.”
“Well, pardon if I don’t take your word for that.”
“You been down to Dublin recently?” another man griped.
Darragh tapped his toe anxiously, all the discord in the room making his already strained patience nearly snap. “I have.”
“Yeah, and we all see how well that turned out for you.”
“He still knows the king better than any of us. If he says the king’s power dies with the king, then I believe him.”
Darragh looked at the man curiously. It was a strange thing, in this world, to take a man at his word. Darragh had learned already not to do it, so the unexpected support he found here was almost gratifying. Whether it would turn from words to actions, he didn’t know. But he’d be a fool not to ask.
“I’m going back at night,” he said. “Any of you want to come, I’d be glad for it.”
One of the men snorted. The man who’d believed Darragh didn’t say anything but gazed at the fire in silence, thinking it through. Well, that was hopeful enough for now.
A man stood and headed for the doorway. “Garvan and the boys are back. Wait …” His voice trailed off as he frowned out into the rain.
“What?”
The man raised his voice as he called outside. “Where’s Rabbit?”
Moments later Garvan entered, shaking the rain out of his hair. He glanced at Darragh, and his eyes narrowed. “What’re you doing here?”
Darragh shrugged and moved away from the fire to make room for the new arrivals.
“Where’s Rabbit, Garvan?”
“Gone,” Garvan said abruptly.
The short man at his elbow wasn’t so restrained. “Boru claimed him.” His face twisted. “Took him prisoner.”
“And you didn’t fight for him? You let that mad bastard have him? He’s just a fucking boy, Garvan!”
> Garvan recoiled as though he’d been slapped. “He’s a man. Seen at least nineteen winters, by my count, and even if he hadn’t, he’s man enough to have set those two free, man enough to betray all of us at home. What fucking choice did I have?”
“Protect your fucking own!”
The short man raked his fingers through his unkempt hair. “You want to know the worst of it?” The men hung on his words. “You gonna tell them, Garvan? Gonna tell them what the king’s got in store for the lad?”
“Oh, fuck me,” one of the men said under his breath. “Garvan?”
Garvan fell into a seat, covering his face. “What choice did I have?” he muttered into his palms. “What choice did I have?”
“He’s taking Rabbit back to Dublin,” the short man said. “For all his army to fuck.”
The men were silent for a moment.
“This is your fucking fault!” a man with red hair shouted, lunging for Darragh. “If you had just stayed put in Dublin with your fucking Boy, the mad king never would have come from the city. Wouldn’t have needed Rabbit to replace what you stole.”
Darragh pushed him back, his heart thumping wildly.
“Stop it!” Garvan rose to his feet. “It’s Rabbit’s own fault! He knew what he was getting into. He knew how dangerous the mad king is. He knew that our children’s lives were at stake. He knew.”
“You tell yourself that,” the short man said, shaking his head. “You heard him. He was tryin’ to do right, like you showed him his whole life.”
Another of the men rounded on Garvan. “If our children was at stake, then we should ha’ fucking fought for them! We didn’t need to go begging and scraping and trading away Rabbit like a piece of meat.”
The short man nodded. “Rabbit was our child, too, not that long ago. I remember when he came to camp first. Just a scrap of a lad, still scared of the dark. He fucking worshipped you, Garvan.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Garvan muttered. “You think I didn’t think of him like my own son? He betrayed us. He betrayed all of us. There was nothing I could do. It was either him or everyone back at the camp. The king wouldn’t be merciful. There was nothing I could do.”
“Eight men, Garvan!” the short man snarled. “We’ve three times that number back at camp!”
“We have,” Garvan said, “but we’ve got no guns that work, and we’ve got no fucking army waiting in Dublin to back us up. You swat a wasp, and what happens? The whole nest swarms out. There was nothing I could do for Rabbit!”
Oh, but Boru was clever. Clever enough that he held the bandits in check with only his words and his reputation. Like the good folk, Darragh thought suddenly. Like leaving sacrifices and paying respects to superstition, all because of his words. Well, Darragh had words, as well.
He stepped forwards and cleared his throat. “I’ll save him. I’m going back tonight, and I’m going to kill the king, and I’m going to kill any man still loyal to him. And then I’m going to save Ciaran, and Rabbit too.”
He looked around the room. Several of the men wouldn’t meet his gaze, including Garvan. But the short man did, and held it, and nodded. “I’m with you.”
“Me too,” said the man who’d believed him before about Boru’s power.
A third man nodded. “And me. Gotta get our boy back.”
Garvan raised his head at last. “It’s a fool’s errand. You’re dead men.”
“Fuck that,” the short man said. “It’s the right thing to do. You think his army will come for us, then you get the camp ready to move. But I’m going back for Rabbit.”
And Ciaran.
The lantern they’d left burning was still flickering away, still casting the cavern of Newgrange in light and shadow, somehow more foreboding now.
Maybe that was the hot breath at his back. Maybe Rabbit’s whimpers. He’d been the first one into the entry, and now he stood in the centre of the space, fully clothed still but shoulders hunched, his hands tied cruelly behind his back.
“Filthy little animal, isn’t he, Boy?” Boru asked, pulling Ciaran closer. One hand gripped his hip possessively, and one slid across the torc at his throat. “Not all prim and proper like you were when you came to me.”
“Filthy, Your Majesty,” Ciaran agreed softly. Poor Rabbit. Ciaran had been afraid like that once, hadn’t he? It felt like a lifetime ago. It felt like that fear belonged to another person. Boy wasn’t afraid, was he? Boy took whatever he was given, dully, dumbly, uncomplainingly.
“Is he a virgin, do you think?” A sudden low thickness in Boru’s tone.
“I think so, Majesty.” No, he was sure of it. Remembered Rabbit watching Ciaran and Darragh together, agape. The flustered way he’d apologised for his behaviour. The furtive glances he’d shot at Ciaran afterwards.
And Ciaran had been angry with him?
Boru shoved Ciaran forwards slightly. “Take his clothes off.”
If his fear belonged to another person, Ciaran wished his horror did as well. It rose in his guts, his throat, and he wanted to be sick as he approached Rabbit. Put his hands on Rabbit’s thin shoulders.
At least Rabbit didn’t beg him not to. At least he understood the futility of that.
The shirt wouldn’t come off past the ropes, but Ciaran pulled it over Rabbit’s head and left it bundled up behind his shoulders. Just one more binding keeping him pinned. Rabbit’s chest was thin. Ciaran could count his ribs, rising and falling rapidly.
Ciaran sank to his knees and fumbled with Rabbit’s boots. Saw where they’d been patched and repaired, and where the soles were peeling away. Ciaran tugged Rabbit’s boots off. He was wearing mismatched socks. One, thick and brown and woollen, and the other a discoloured dress sock.
Rabbit watched him with watery eyes, sniffling, unspeaking, until— “I thought you were handsome. When we met. And clever. I wanted you to like me.” He forced a smile as Ciaran’s shaking hands moved to his ragged old belt. “I wanted … you.”
This isn’t me liking you, Rabbit. This is me raping you.
Ciaran glanced at Boru, afraid that Rabbit speaking out of turn would make him angry. Instead, Boru smiled delightedly as though Rabbit’s words had added spice to an otherwise bland meal. Ciaran felt a surge of anger. He didn’t say it for you. He said it for me. To make me feel better. To make us both feel better.
Rabbit’s resolve broke as Ciaran tugged his belt free. Tears welled and slid down his face. Ciaran fumbled with Rabbit’s button fly, then pulled the trousers down over his legs.
“Well,” said Boru. “He’s not as pretty as you, Boy.”
Ciaran took Rabbit’s left ankle and encouraged him to step out of his trousers. Then his right. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“You better be thanking me. He’s all that stands between you and all my men’s cocks in your slutty arse, Boy. You should be sabotaging him, really. Poor scrawny thing, out for your pampered place in my bed.” He stepped up behind Rabbit, curling his cruel hands around Rabbit’s shoulders. Rabbit squeezed his eyes shut, mouth falling open. “Speaking of which, Boy, I was thinking when we went home I’d just keep you permanently chained there from now on, by one ankle at least. You won’t be needing to stray anymore, isn’t that right?”
“As you wish, Majesty.” There were worse places to be chained, he supposed. And wondered, suddenly, if he should try to take Rabbit’s place in them. Rabbit had only tried to help. It was a poor choice between Boru’s bed and some public post where any passing man could fuck him, but at least Boru’s bed was warmer. Although Rabbit wouldn’t survive a month as Boru’s exclusive pet, not with his unpredictable attitude. Maybe that would be a mercy as well.
Of course, that was assuming the choice was in Ciaran’s hands at all or could even be influenced by his actions. Boru had long proven himself to be completely outside of any man’s or god’s control.
Ciaran rose to his feet.
Boru circled his fingers around Rabbit’s neck and leaned in close to his ear. “Wha
t’s your name?”
“Rabbit.” He flinched.
Boru pressed his mouth close to Rabbit’s ear but grinned at Ciaran. “That’s not your name anymore.”
And suddenly Ciaran could feel the nose of the van pressed against his stomach. Could smell the blood in the air. He heard Danny crying, screaming.
“Your name’s Bitch,” Boru said. He tilted Rabbit’s head sideways. “Do you hear that? My Bitch. Boy and Bitch, what a nice little pair.”
Rabbit’s eyes flashed open, panicked, horrified. Ciaran swayed on his feet, all the blood gone out of his face.
“Boy, give your new friend Bitch a kiss.” Boru’s grin widened. “Filthy whores, the both of you.”
Ciaran stepped forwards. He caught Rabbit’s face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together first. For comfort, or something. Rabbit panted rapidly. Ciaran kissed him. Open-mouthed, because that’s what Boru wanted. Rabbit’s lips were dry and cracked. He didn’t kiss back. If he’d ever wanted Ciaran, he definitely didn’t want him now. Not like this. How the hell could he?
They stood there, mouths together, neither of them moving, and Ciaran remembered too late that his kisses were supposed to be for Darragh alone. Maybe this didn’t count, this awkward, ugly connection. Or maybe Ciaran was just telling himself that because he couldn’t stand the thought of another broken promise, another part of himself given away, taken by Boru, never to be returned.
Rabbit flinched suddenly, broke their kiss, and yelped.
Boru laughed. “He’s a virgin all right. Can hardly get my finger up there!”
“Shhh,” Ciaran said, twining his fingers in Rabbit’s filthy hair, feeling the brush of the hidden feather, and bringing Rabbit’s head down onto his shoulder. “Hush now.”
What else could he do but offer comfort? He was a slave. Nothing. He couldn’t protect Rabbit from this. Couldn’t even protect himself.
He wanted to close his eyes to escape this. To escape Rabbit’s pain and Boru’s delight. To escape Newgrange itself because it had whispered to him of timeless power, of great mysteries, of belonging. Of gods and kings and history. And of Darragh, who’d known him here and loved him.
“On your knees, Bitch.” Boru stepped back and unfastened his trousers.