Blackthorns of the Forgotten Page 3

  “Sully,” a disembodied voice called back.

  “Sully?”

  Gillean quickly processed his memory banks. No match found. “Sully.” The echo of a lone fiddle riding on the wind kept Gillean planted neath the tree, enchanted for the rest of the afternoon.

  One month had passed since the dream-like encounter. Gillean’s conscious mind could not let the memory go. The best he could surmise was, apparently, Sully was meant to be some sort of guide—but for what? And why did Sully look so much like a young Gillean? His entire body quivered whenever he ventured to consider what or who Sully was. Creating magical and ethereal characters for his songs was one thing. Irish folk-singers had done so for centuries. It was their legacy. Confronting a being seemingly from the hallways of his imagination was too much to be believed.

  A few stiff drinks of Jameson and the confirmation from his family and friends that they were not having a go at Gillean had done little to dispel Sully back into the parallel universe he came from. After the first encounter in the woods, Gillean reckoned he would write a song about the bizarre occurrence, hoping to be done with it. But, the situation proved none too simple. Sully was not so easily rid of. Gillean caught bits and pieces of the unknowable man, but like grabbing at frayed fabric, he was left with just shreds of evidence of their encounters. And always, the sublime notes of a fiddle whirled around him like the wind. Gillean had an idea this train ride would be life changing. His brief reverie ended and the reality of the moment re-asserted itself.

  He shuddered as Sully fired back, “Looks like we’re both goin’ to find out why I got stuck with ya.”

  “Who? Stuck with me? You…I…ARGH!” Gillean exclaimed in total exasperation.

  Sully began to laugh—his wide grin like the Cheshire cat’s.

  “Sod you, Sully. I came here for some peace.” Gillean grunted, turned his back to the man, and twisted his body into a fetal position.

  “Look here.” Sully smacked his companion on the rump with a considerable wallop.

  “Ouch!”

  “We are clearly in this together, so there’s no need to get in a snit. Come on, let’s have a song, shall we?” Sully winked at the weary Gillean.

  “A song? No. I’m exhausted. I’m going to sleep. I pray you will do the same.”

  “You? Pray?” Sully feigned disbelief. “Fine. Suit yerself.”

  “I will, thank you.”

  With that Sully burst forth—full throttle, “Oh my old man’s a dustman, he wears a dustman’s hat!”

  “Oh, Sully, please. Shut it.”

  “Come on then, come on.” Sully shoved his elbow into the protesting man’s side.

  “Ouch!”

  “Sing!”

  Gillean sighed with disgust. “Okay, okay, ya damned imp. He wears cor blimy trousers and he lives in a Council flat!” he offered with high theatrics.

  “Now that’s got it!” Sully exclaimed with delight.

  Together, the two men filled up the silence of the otherwise empty compartment as the train propelled itself forward through the darkness and into the undiscovered.

  Gillean woke to find himself once again alone. He glanced out the window. Night held firm its grip.

  For a moment he had forgotten Sully’s appearance and their riotous duet. But when he stood to stretch, Gillean noticed the weathered knapsack on the rack.

  “Damn ya, Sully,” Gillean muttered.

  Glancing around like a guilty child before filching a cookie from the jar, Gillean gave in to the sudden urge to see what was contained in the carry-on of his uninvited guest. He felt only the slightest pang of remorse as he reached up, pulled the sack to him, and undid the tie. In order to justify his intrusive action, Gillean decided to place his hand inside and retrieve only the first thing it touched. He fingers brushed against a wood surface. Wrapping his hand around the object, he gave a slight tug. He uncovered an old fiddle with an envelope stuck between its strings.

  “What have we here? Was that your music?” Gillean examined the instrument briefly. He’d never seen a wood of this sheen before. The fiddle glowed a soft purple. Perhaps it was simply the reflection of the artificial light. Gillean carefully placed it back inside the knapsack. “We’ll see about that later.” He turned his attention to the envelope on which his name was written. He opened the note with trembling hands. The swirling, feminine strokes were as beautiful as the woman who brushed the paper with her felt pen: Ciar! Gillean’s body shook as he read the first few lines.

  My Little Gilly,

  It has been only a month since you left Prague. Your phone calls have been of little consolation. I know you told me you need time—time to think, to be alone, away from me and all that we have shared—time to clear your head. But my sweet, misguided singer, you will not find what you search for so desperately, away from me and our great passion…

  “Oh God.”

  Gillean fell back into his seat, his legs like jelly, his empty stomach stirring with bile. His throat stung. He shut his eyes tight. But she was there. Behind his closed eyes she came to him more clearly than any daydream.

  Gillean had been on tour in Prague. The day held the promise of a bright, early spring. He was doing his usual tooling around the city, the sun spilling into the city streets like saffron. He ducked into the local Art Museum to escape the blinding daylight when he stumbled upon the most stunning woman he had ever seen, a young artist preparing for a showing of her work later that night. Her paintings depicted the ultimate struggles of life—more specifically, spiritual life—and of the constant battle between good and evil.

  Her images were startling and thought-provoking to say the least. She did with color and canvas what he had tried to do with music. Being a man prone to such lofty considerations, Gillean felt an urgent need to have a long discussion with the woman whose name meant ’darkness‘ in Gaelic. The pale hair which fell down to her waist and bewitching indigo eyes seemed a far cry from the shadowy figure which defined her name.

  Their first conversation caused him to believe he had known her before. He promptly arranged for many other prolonged meetings. Although she offered herself to him, time and again, she was politely refused. He’d been down that road before. He was not about to make the same mistake, and begin the great chain of pain all over again. But what existed between them was becoming more powerful, not so easily denied. His desire for her was like a single, pointed thorn digging deep inside him, into a place where even his music had never taken him. She told him a true artist would never let himself be bound to any man’s vision but his own. The days and nights spent in her company made him feel alive in a way he had never felt before. She was a bolt of lightning and he her conduit.

  But there was something underneath the current, a foreboding sense of loss and misery. Gillean explained away these uneasy feelings as mere shame for being so attached to a woman other than his wife. The more time he spent with Ciar, the greater the urge to unearth the briar. He needed to leave, because of how much he wanted to stay. Gillean didn’t have the courage to tell Ciar “goodbye”. He hoped his explanation of needing time to himself and his subsequent absence would speak to what he could not. Leaning his head back against the seat the question came to him. How the hell did the letter come to be in Sully’s bag?

  ~~~

  Sitting on a divan, the young woman brushed her long blonde hair, its sheen like flaxseed. She wore a white silk dressing gown that displayed more of her toned body than it covered. The surroundings were extravagant: hand crafted wood furniture, crystal decanters of perfumes, and bowls filled with sweet smelling potpourri. Her chambers were a most pleasant assault on the senses. She was every impassioned artist’s portrait of innocence and youthful beauty. But she radiated the sophistication and desire of a mature woman of the world. Any man would be hard pressed to resist her once she set her sights on him.

  She summoned Sully from the train just as Gillean was falling off to sleep. She smiled at him as if greeting a beloved fri
end.

  “Looks as if the wayward little boy has grown into a fine young man! You must tell me all about it, Sully.” Her eyes, black as pitch, took him in like a hungry cat an ill-fated mouse.

  “Ciar,” Sully nodded. “I think ya know very well what became of me.”

  “Oh?” She tucked her long legs beneath her, but not before she exposed her thigh. “I couldn’t begin to know what goes on in your insignificant world of little do-gooder spirits. I’m far too preoccupied with my own life.”

  “Stop the lights!” Sully baited her, as he moved about the room. “Playing the part of an artist this time round I see. What an insult to those who truly have the gift.”

  His eyes came to rest on a golden vase in the shape of a guitar filled with red roses. He didn’t have to look at the tiny card lying next to the bouquet. He knew who had made the romantic offering.

  “Explain to me, why would ya be interested in a mere earthly musician who just happens to be my charge?”

  Disregarding his query, she studied him, apparently pleased with what she saw. “Yes, you have come a long way from the broken child you once were.”

  He cringed at her reference to his childhood. Much to his dismay, she was one of the few who knew about his brief and anguished life as a human.

  “Look at you,” she continued. “All spit and fire. I’d say it’s a struggle for you to remain angelic, isn’t it, me boy?”

  She moved from her seat sashaying her tall, thin frame against him.

  “Not with the likes of you around, it isn’t.” He backed away from her. “And you know full well I’m not an angel.”

  “Now, now, don’t be cross with me. That’s not my fault.” She moved with him, not allowing the physical connection between them to be broken. “You have your assignment as do I. Did you think I wouldn’t notice your interference? That goes against the rules of your own collective. Intercepting my letter meant for Gillean was a mistake.” She leaned her body against his, her feathery hair touching his cheek. “You’re a little late if you’re thinking of saving the singer, or are you just jealous because I have his full attention? Either way, he’s a done deal, lad.”

  Sully held his ground, determined not to let her see how much she frightened him. She had the power to make a man do horrendous things, such as beat his own child to death, all with her surreptitious charms. Shoving his shaking hands into his pockets he acted unperturbed by her pronouncement.

  “I’d say I’m right on time. If Gillean was such a done deal, ya wouldn’t have felt the need to bring me here, or write him such a pitiable letter.” His eyes did not betray him, only flashing a warning as his stare intensified. “What’s the matter? Losin’ yer touch, old girl?” he taunted.

  She hissed at him. “You stupid, broken boy!” In an instant she turned from a flirtatious girl into the seething, dark force she truly was. “You couldn’t even save yourself from being crushed by your own father, and yet here you are, once again in my way.”

  She smiled maliciously, her eyes flashing an intense cruelty and her half-open mouth baring predatory white teeth. “You’ll manage to muck things up. Do you honestly think you can save the likes of Gillean Faraday? He’s more than your charge, isn’t he? Which is every bit my business. You have only yourself to blame for whatever happens to him. I’ll make sure he’ll be sorry for ever laying eyes on you.”

  She placed her hands on his chest pushing him backwards. It was as if she had placed hot irons against his skin. His eyes tearing from the pain, he remained conscious long enough to hear her last noxious words. “You went too far by crossing me, Sully. You violated your duties. You entered my world. And now I have the right, the obligation, to punish you.”

  ~~~

  Gillean jolted awake. A piercing scream, like the wail of a siren, or an animal suffering a mortal wound, sliced into his rest. The resonance was so deafening he let go of his grip of Ciar’s letter to cover his ears. As his mind registered the shrieking whistle of the train, his eyes focused again on the surroundings. A single, stunning beam of sunlight shone down on an unidentifiable heap lying in the center of the floor.

  “What the…?”

  Gillean jumped up, and moved cautiously to the center of the car. There, laying face down on the threadbare carpet was his companion. Gillean knelt to gently turn the man onto his back. Sully’s eyes were closed.

  Perfect black fingerprints riddled the once-crisp blue linen shirt. Gillean tentatively undid some of the buttons. Sully’s chest was covered with angry looking indentations that aligned with the handprints on his shirt. Gillean gasped. Trying to compose himself, he leaned into Sully’s face, frozen in a grimace of pain.

  “Hey, hey, young man. Come on now, time to wake up.”

  The injured man blinked open his eyes. Gillean noticed instantly that something was terribly wrong. The light that once shown through the green portholes was gone. Sully’s eyes were now a cold, dark green—resembling the moss gathering at the bottom of the bogs. He was slowly regaining his senses.

  “Gillean?” his voice crackled. “What happened?”

  “Hush, now,” Gillean admonished. “First things first. Can you sit up?”

  “I think so.”

  Gillean placed his arms around Sully and pulled him into a sitting position.

  “We need to find you a doctor,” Gillean said.

  Sully laughed, but it was no longer the happy lilt it once was. He sounded tired and weak. “A doctor will be of no help to me,” he answered, looking down at the raw incisions in his chest.

  “What happened? Did somebody do this to you? What the hell are these?” Gillean demanded answers to ease his awful sense of helplessness.

  Sully stared blankly at the man. “I don’t know. I just don’t know what to do now.”

  The door to the compartment opened. A young girl no older than nine or ten years of age came towards them. Her hair was pulled back into two red braids which swung across her back as she walked. The delicate white dress she wore fell almost to her feet, which were covered with ballerina-like slippers. As she moved closer, the rustling of her dress coalesced into the sound of singing of children. She carried a guitar much too large to be her own. When she came upon the two men she sat next to Sully, placing a delicate hand on his head in a gesture of love and concern. “You weren’t supposed to do that, Sully.”

  Gillean looked at the two in confusion. “He wasn’t supposed to do what? Who are you?”

  Sully grabbed on to Gillean who recoiled at the burning sensation caused by Sully’s touch.

  “Mother of—”Gillean turned to the girl. “Do you know what happened to him?”

  The girl looked to Sully.

  Sully made the introduction. “Gillean, this is Keelin.”

  The girl nodded to Gillean, then rested her sorrowful eyes on Sully. She spoke gently. “You must have known they would send me. I’m so sorry. I told them I didn’t wanna come. I tried to tell them.”

  “No tears, me girl. Ya did nothin’ wrong. I’m ready to go with you now. I understand.” Sully comforted the distraught child.

  “Wait! What the hell—”

  Gillean corrected himself. He could hardly believe he’d swear in front of a child. Then again, he could hardly believe any of what was happening.

  “Pardon me, Keelin. Sully, what do you mean you are ready to go? You’re not leaving me—I won’t allow it. Not until you tell me what’s happening.”

  Sully tried to stand, but was stopped short. He moaned and willingly allowed himself to rest against Gillean’s chest.

  “’Tis nothin’ ya should be troublin’ yerself about. You will be all right, I promise. I just need to take me leave of ya now.”

  “I won’t accept that,” Gillean said stubbornly.

  He was used to getting his way. But being a famous performer was of no worth to the suffering young man who lay in his arms.

  “Why don’t you tell him,” Keelin coaxed.

  “No. It doesn’t matter n
ow. Just take me back.”

  Gillean spoke up. “Tell me, Keelin. It does matter. Tell me!”

  The girl looked from Gillean to Sully as if weighing the pros and cons of Gillean’s request. Her darting eyes indicated the difficulty of her position. She spoke quickly like taking a dose of bitter medicine. “He disobeyed an important edict.”

  “Don’t, Keelin.” Sully struggled against Gillean, but he held Sully firmly to him.

  “What edict?” Gillean inquired.

  “He tried to save you. He tried to do work which was meant for you. He knows that is forbidden.”

  “Come again?”

  She smiled briefly. It was there, in the way the corners of her lips turned down ever so slightly, that Gillean saw the girl’s sorrow. Her mouth, like the pieces of fractured light in Sully’s eyes, betrayed their attempt at simplicity. These two before him were anything but lighthearted spirits. Was this child telling Gillean that he shared responsibility for their woeful state?

  “All choices come with consequences.” The girl kept her eyes on Sully.

  “Whose choice and consequence are we talking about?” Gillean felt sick, not wanting to know, as he was sure it was something terrible for Sully.

  “Sully is simply a man now. A man just like you.”

  “Are you telling me—?” Gillean’s mind glossed over several possibilities, none of which made sense. “Then what in God’s name was he before?”

  She shook her head, the crimson braids falling into her lap. “’Tis not the time for you to know.”

  Surprised at how quickly anger had overtaken him, Gillean quipped without thought to the girl’s age or circumstance. All he knew was that someone had been unjustly attacked. “What kind of disturbed duo are you? That’s the same rubbish answer I keep getting from your friend here. Who decides when the hell it’s time for me to know what the hell is going on?”

  She was not upset by his fervor, keeping her tone even as if Gillean was a child. “The answers you seek don’t always come wrapped in familiar packages. You have been silently pleading for help for a long time now, haven’t you? You entreated the universe, and Sully was the one who was sent to you.”