Blackthorns of the Forgotten Read online

  She kissed the top of his head. “I’m going to take a nice hot bath and then to sleep. Listen to me.” She held his face in her hands. “I meant what I said. You were the fresh breath of air that was needed here. I recognize there are powers greater than us, connecting to the powers within each one of us.” She giggled like a jubilant child stumbling upon a hidden treasure. “You, my sweet man, you made me believe in the limitless influence of the universe. We are a part of something so exceedingly magnificent. You gave that to me. You gave me the sky.”

  “Good night to ya, Adara.”

  “Good night. Try not to worry about Gillean. He’s a tough little character. I know him much better than you do. He’ll come out of this on top, no doubt.”

  As she walked the hallway to her room, Adara’s heart soared. She had been married to one of the world’s most admired and beloved singer-songwriters for over twenty years, but never heard such beautiful music as that which came from the impetuous man who insisted she should dance. Sully was all the things her husband once sung about and believed in. The broken pieces she reached for were not connected to Gillean, but to the young man who appeared to want nothing other than her happiness and to assure her that she was loved. He reminded her of the tragically romantic Irish poets. Her own sleeping desires were being awaked after years of lying dormant. She wanted to give herself and her love to him—to offer him the love he seemed so terribly in need of, and to fall into the green of his eyes like a cool, refreshing stream on a hot summer’s day. She wanted to lose herself in him.

  ~~~

  Sully fought a fruitless battle against sleep. He intended to make sure Adara was settled so he could speak with Gillean alone.

  His heart ached with an alien desire. It was Gillean’s face he saw when the feeling washed over him like a temperate wave. He acknowledged his complete failure as any sort of worthwhile being. All he could hope for was to bring Gillean and Adara back together, perhaps even stronger for the hardship they endured. Adara may have her doubts about her husband, but two decades of marriage spoke volumes of her faith in their union. His presence had upset the balance, confused the issue. Once he was gone, she would have to realize she could make a better life with Gillean. She was most certainly both strong and wise enough to listen to her heart now. He had seen as much in her dancing.

  He had drifted off when a fantastic force took hold of him. He was caught up in a tornado of irresistible strength. A great gust of air lifted him high into the heavens, then dropped him from the stars into the bowels of hell. When he raised his head all was black, save for a single beam of light. Keelin made her way to him.

  “Keelin, what’s goin’ on?”

  She knelt beside him looking more solemn than he had ever known.

  “I tried to warn you. I tried to help you. I even tried to hide you, but you still would not listen!” she cried.

  He meant to touch her, but his hand went through her as if she were a ghost. He drew back in distress. “What happened? What’s happened to me?”

  “The child you were in life and the re-encounter you were, are no more. Because you chose to disobey the directive, you have lost your history and your home with us.” She spat out the words as if they were poison. She was now the messenger assigned to deliver his ill fate. Sully understood he had brought it all on himself. He wished the little girl did not have to be the deliverer of his punishment.

  “Where am I to go?”

  “You will go back to where you chose to be. You will die there, only this time with no hope of redemption. You will become like the spirits in Gillean’ songs, fading into the background of his creations for eternity.”

  An icy fear rose up from his center. He tried to remain calm for Keelin’s sake. “I’m sorry if I got ya into trouble. I never meant to hurt you, or anyone. I hope ya know that.”

  “I do, Sully. I have to send you back now. I promised them I would make sure you would return.”

  She helped him to his feet. They walked swathed in darkness. Blackness thick as tar prevented him from seeing where they headed. Keelin kept a step ahead, navigating the murky terrain without difficulty. They reached what appeared to be the edge of a river where a ferryboat waited. A hooded man stood at the rudder. Mist enveloped the water.

  “You must go with him.” Keelin pointed to the faceless man.

  “I will do.”

  Sully was resigned to his fate. He was desperate to hug the child, but knew he could not.

  “Thank ya for trying to help me. Promise me one thing?”

  “If I can, you know I will.” She was crying.

  “Please look after Gillean and Adara. Make sure they put things right.”

  “I can’t. I won’t do it.”

  “Why?” he asked, as she nudged him ever closer to the ferry.

  “Because I want to help you!” She flung her body towards him, hurtling them both into the water. Smoke rose thick and heavy from the river, the sounds of horrible groaning came from the restless waves. The ferryman reached out in an effort to snatch up the two, but Keelin pushed Sully away, underneath the boat. Water filled his nose and mouth. Her hands propelled him forward. He resurfaced on the other side of the vessel believing his friend to be right behind him.

  Instead, Keelin swam back. The Ferryman’s gnarled hand took hold of the girl as she came up from the briny waves. The haggard old man claimed another prized soul as he hauled her into the boat.

  She shouted to Sully with her last breath. “Go on now, Sully! If you truly gain the love and trust of another human being in the life you have chosen, you will be saved.”

  “Keelin, NO!”

  Sully gulped down water and air in a fruitless attempt to swim back to her. The Ferryman was swift, commanding his craft and the child closer to the other side of the shore, churning the already restive waters in their wake. Falling onto the hard wooden planks of the boat’s keel, the little girl understood why Sully had risked himself to save her from her wretched life on earth. Love. Sully knew full well how to share it—now he would need to learn how to receive it, as she had, in order to be free.

  ~~~

  Downstairs in the study, Gillean poured himself another drink while he absentmindedly sifted through the piles of assorted mail on his desk. The first two whiskeys had just about taken the edge off. He intended on getting good and knackered so he would not have to digest all that was on his proverbial plate. It was piled high with heaps of shame and self-pity, complemented by steaming sides of betrayal and anger. A feast surely not fit for a man of his means, but here he was washing down the pungent meal with the liquid sedative of choice for both kings and peasants.

  He busied himself with the chaos of a month’s worth of fan letters, bills, and the usual junk mail in an effort to create some order, even if it was a meaningless endeavor. It kept his mind from replaying the scene which transpired earlier and the feelings it had aroused. It was like walking into the middle of a bad film, only this was the cinema of his life. Try as he might, he could not stop the projector from flashing the images onto the screen.

  As he picked up an invitation to yet another fund-raising gala, the question pricked at him like the ever-present thorn of Ciar. How could it be that she was the person to be trusted instead of Sully? Gillean had been so sure of the man’s genuine nature. Gillean was no babe-in-the-woods as far as people were concerned. He had come across players, users, and abusers of all sorts during his extended career. A significant part of his business was merely staying alive.

  At one time, he fell from grace in a most public and humiliating way. Overnight, Ireland’s Perfect Man had become its most flawed. He had not asked for any of it: the expectations, praise, or criticism. He’d just wanted to play his music for anyone willing to listen. Somehow the musician became the music. The belief was held that he was what he sang about—every note, lyric and song. One by one, his own creations had chipped away at who he truly was, defacing the once smooth edifice and weakening the supporting beams
of the structure. And when he could no longer hold the crumbling walls together, his fans—the very same ones who had showered him with roses—assailed him with stones. He was not blameless. He had done wrong, living life according to his own rules and giving himself to whomever he pleased. He betrayed Adara, his one true supporter, and his children. But most of all, he betrayed himself.

  Nothing hurled at him from the outside could have hurt him as much as the hole he had hewn in his heart. Even when all seemed lost, he got up, brushed off, and offered himself once again to the people. Slowly but surely they took him back; no more the favorite, but instead the prodigal son. Invariably there was always someone ready to remind him he was no longer a perfect man, but a forgiven one—fortunate enough to be given a second chance. He bowed in their presence, suffered their judgments, and once again held out the hope that he could play his music for anyone who would listen. Only now he wanted something in return, some recompense for his ordeal.

  He was beginning to feel the effects of three drinks. How could he have been so wrong about Sully? He saw the authenticity in the man’s bright eyes and child-like magic. Child! Yes, what about the little redheaded girl, he questioned, tossing envelope after envelope to the floor. She would not have been capable of duplicity. That much he had to believe, or by God he could trust in nothing at all! He dutifully carried the guitar she had given him. When he looked to the corner of the room where he left it, his heart leapt into his throat. A fiddle now rested in the place where the guitar had been. It’s wood glistening a deep purple hue in the firelight.

  Dizziness overcame him. He clutched at the corner of the glass top desk. His hand rested on a particular envelope. Although it was plain in appearance, it held an air of import. It was sealed with old-fashioned wax. He lurched into the chair, turning the letter over in his hand. Squinting for lack of his glasses, he was able to make out his name in heavy print on the front. There was no stamp, return address or postmark. Still sober enough to be intrigued, Gillean rummaged through a drawer to retrieve a letter opener and his spectacles. Running the blade under the red wax, he broke the seal and unfolded the thick paper. Taking another sip of spirits he began to read the epistle.

  Dear Gillean:

  It is my greatest wish that this letter reaches you. It is with much thought, and a heavy heart, that I write. I hope you remember me, and the recollection is with fondness. My name is Keelin. I met you in the company of the spirit we used to call Sully. I, like Sully, am going against everything we re-encounters are directed to do. But, also like Sully, my disobedience is fueled by the love for a friend. You see Sully loved you so much, he risked all he was in an effort to save you from the things that haunted you and caused you unhappiness. As a result, Sully has lost who he was, and who he was meant to be, among our kind. The decision was made to banish him forever, and no memory of his existence as the boy he was, or the spirit he became, should survive. But I believe with all my heart that this tired Earth needs more, not less, souls of his kind.

  Gillean brought the letter closer to his face, tears obscuring his vision as he continued to read.

  Sully paid a high price for rescuing me but, as a result, I have never felt a violent hand on my body. I have become, as they are, a being with the ability to reach out to souls in pain, but only from a distance. Sully was told upon my acceptance that he would never again be permitted to interfere in such a direct way or else he would pay the ultimate price. But Sully, being Sully, could not resist when he saw how troubled you were. He truly loves you, and whatever he may have done, please know he did so out of his great love. He is no angel as you know, no perfect being. But, much like you, he is a being with a heart full of good intentions. Sadly he has a habit of making the wrong choices and innocently hurting the ones he loves most.

  I shall never see my friend again. I am grateful for the chance to sacrifice myself in an effort to save him. I don’t know what will become of me. We are a pair, Sully and I, tampering with the natural order of things. Who can say what will happen? But as far as Sully is concerned, you do have a say. You could help to save him. Please forgive my selfish gesture in asking you to reach out to him, but he has done so much for me. He is my best friend. I feel I owe him as much.

  If someone can truly love and trust in him, he will be reborn. Your connection has already healed his wounds. Sully doesn’t know this, but I do, and now you do too. If a human can extend this kind of love and trust to Sully, he will be able to remain the man he is now. He does not have an unlimited amount of time. I was able to persuade the Elders to give him this chance, but it is only until the moon is dark again. As I write this to you, I see such time will be in four days. If he does not receive this precious gift, he will die. He will cease to be on any spiritual plane, as if he never existed.

  All I ask is that you search your heart and remember, things are not always as they appear. Please bear this in mind when you return home and confront the situation. I am forever in your debt. I know you will do what you believe in your heart to be right.

  I wish you a long and happy life filled with love. I wish the same for my dear Sully. I am entrusting to you all the proper documentation needed for whatever happens to him. Please see that all is as it should be in the end, or the beginning.

  Ever Yours,

  Keelin

  Gillean could hardly keep his head up, his mind being so muddled with alcohol and emotion. Placing the letter down, he vowed to rest his eyes for only a few moments. Then he would be clear headed enough to deal with the magnitude of the situation. As his head fell onto his outstretched arms, he didn’t see the certificates tucked underneath Keelin’s letter.

  ~~~

  Sully descended the stairs to the first floor. The memory of his time with Keelin and her sacrifice was already being redirected in his consciousness to a hazy recollection of a bizarre dream. He passed the study, and saw the open door. Gillean lay sprawled across the desk. Sully hesitated, thinking it might be best to just be gone while the coast was clear, but he owed Gillean more than absence. They were obliged by a promise made to one another. The least Sully could do was assure Gillean he need not view his unwanted guest as a rival. Their friendship may be irreparable but, the powers willing, not Gillean’ heart. Sully took a tentative step into the study, quietly inquiring if the man was awake. When he got no response he approached, careful not to cause the hard wood floors to creak and wake the sleeping man.

  Gillean breathed deeply. He was lost to the world of slumber. Sully lovingly placed a hand on Gillean’s disheveled hair. He studied the creases—‘laugh lines‘ as humans referred to them—ingrained in the musician’s face. Sully knew that during Gillian’s prolific years he had smiled more times than frowned, accepted insults and injury with the same grace as he did accolades and confirmation.

  Sully didn't blame Gillean for being angry with him. Adara had held on to their union throughout the difficult years, because she had known the young, aspiring, musician who saw the light and tapped into its energy. Sully reached for the energy through her. The same principles that govern light preside over darkness. Neither is good nor evil, blind or sighted on their own, only those who master one over the other, bind one in order to infuse the other with a specific power. It was that desire which disconnected Gillean from Adara, not his misdeeds. Gillean had long since left her behind, waving from a window of their life. This was the opening through which Ciar had slipped in, seeping like slick, black oil. Tunnel vision blocks out all other light. Gillean never saw her coming until she was there right in front of him.

  Still, Gillean put up a fight, and tried to do the right thing no matter how tempting it was to fall back into the old, comforting ways of his youth. But Ciar was drawn to the radiance in order to extinguish it.

  Maybe in the midst of all the misunderstanding, Sully maintained enough power to inadvertently force Gillean to realize what was genuinely important to him. Adara had told Sully he was an instrument of change. Wasn’t it so that, wit
h change—good or bad—there comes pain? Gillean might end up hating him, but he would gladly accept that if it meant the troubled singer could at long last find peace.

  Lost in his musings, Sully started when Gillean shifted positions, still embraced in an intoxicated sleep. Taking a step back, Sully read his name mentioned in a letter underneath Gillean’ arm. Leaning over the desk and holding his breath in trepidation, Sully slowly pulled the paper away. He shrunk back in alarm as Gillean let out a cough, but turned his head and slept on. Sully moved quietly to the couch by the hearth, where the fire was still burning.

  His hands shook as he pressed the letter to his wet face.

  “Oh Keelin, darlin’ girl. Why? Why did ya do this?”

  He stood, crumpled the letter in his hands and threw it into the fire. Watching the flames engulf and destroy Keelin’s words of love, he wasn’t sure what good it would do. He surmised Gillean had already read it.

  Gillean! Sully turned, exhaling a sigh of relief. Gillean was still sleeping. Sully’s mind raced. What to do?

  Documentation! What was Keelin referring to when she said she was giving Gillean all the proper documentation? He hurried back to the desk. Next to Gillean’s arm lay some official looking papers. These must be the papers Keelin referred to. Sully grabbed at them in haste, bumping against the desk. Gillean stirred, lifting a sleepy and disoriented face.

  Sully held in his hands a certificate recording that Sullivan O’Shay had been born at midnight, the twelfth of January, twenty-five years ago in the town of Ballina. The more ominous document recorded his death. He didn’t have a chance to note the fateful date.

  “Sully, what are you doing?” Gillean’s faculties slowly returned. He tottered to his feet, hitting his knee hard against the desk. Ignoring the sharp pain he reached out to Sully.

  “Feck it! Give them to me!”

  Sully raced to the fire with Gillean right behind him.