Post by Conall on Jan 29, 2010 14:03:47 GMT -5
Conall turned away from the window, shivering a little. Lùthais looked at him in concern, speaking softly. “Are ye alright, Conall?”
Conall shook his head, running his tongue carefully over his fangs. Now that Aimhirghin was gone, he was beginning to feel his thirst again… that painful thirst for the blood of the living. He couldn’t look at Lùthais; he tried not to listen to the beating of his heart. Beat, beat, beat. So much blood… throbbing, flowing…
No! Conall tensed, sucking in his breath. He would not harm his friend after having been halted from killing him moments ago. He would find blood elsewhere.
“What’s wrong?” Lùthais asked, his voice still low with concern. “Are ye ill?” He reached out with one hand to feel Conall’s brow, then flinched back. “Ye’re ice-cold!”
Conall nodded, still not looking at his friend. “I’m thirsty… so thirsty…”
“I’ll draw ye some water,” Lùthais offered, moving toward the door.
Conall shook his head again. “Not water… I need… blood. She told me. The Crone told me. Go… bring me something with blood. A calf, an ewe, something. I’ll not harm man or woman, least of all ye!”
Lùthais shrank back, fear coming back into his face. “Blood? The Crone? What are ye talking of, man?”
Conall snarled in his throat; it was an inhuman sound, such as a wolf would make. “Go!”
Lùthais started, then fled. Conall shrank back, looking out of the window at the moon as his friend’s heartbeat faded from his hearing and the temptation waned. How long had he lain in the crypt? The moon had been a little over half-full on the night of the banquet; now it was nearly round. He had been entombed for at least three nights. Little wonder he was so thirsty.
The sound of bleating reached his ears, and Lùthais returned, leading a young ewe before him. Conall’s eyes brightened as he pounced, pinning the animal to the floor. Finding the largest blood vessel in its neck, he bit down deep and gulped at the blood that sprayed up into his mouth. The ewe kicked against him, but quickly grew weaker, and soon lay limp.
Conall drew back, licking blood from his lips and making a low noise of satisfaction in his throat. He looked around, watching as Lùthais tentatively poked his head around the doorframe; he looked apologetically up at his friend, who looked as though he was trying not to vomit. “The things we must do to survive, eh…”
Lùthais nodded slowly. “Aye… better ewe than me,” he chuckled weakly. He did not come into the room.
“Ye can come in, it’s safe. I’m not thirsty anymore.” Conall climbed slowly to his feet, looking down at the dead ewe. “I don’t imagine ye’ll be wanting to do anything with that besides bury it…” He picked it up, taking a step toward the door. “I’ll take care of that. Thank ye.”
- - -
Conall pressed the last shovelful of earth down flat on top of the dead ewe, straightening up and brushing the dirt from his hands. He saw Lùthais coming out toward him and closed the distance between them. He noticed Lùthais’ unsettled expression, attributing it to the fact that the man had just watched him slaughter a sheep with his teeth, and stayed silent.
It was Lùthais who broke the silence. “What’s happened to ye? Ye consort with the Sidhe, ye say ye’ve seen the Goddess; ye were murdered, but here ye stand. And now ye drink the blood of animals. What are ye?”
Conall paused, thinking, and realized that the Goddess had not given a name for what he had become. “I… I don’t know. All I know is I’m no longer human. I’m cursed to live like a shadow from the Otherworld, hunted and feared for eternity.” He shuddered as he recalled Morrighan’s words.
“Eternity?” Lùthais’ eyebrows lifted. “No one lives for eternity but the Goddess and the Fae.”
“Then maybe I am Fae,” Conall answered. “Or something of that ilk.”
He stiffened suddenly as something occurred to him. “Lùthais… where are my sons?”
“Home,” his friend assured him. “Grieving, but both alive and safe. Losing both father and mother in one night was a terrible blow.”
Conall nodded slowly, his mind haunted by images of what remained of Aerona, rotting in the crypt. He had killed her; he had known it ever since he had woken and seen her. In drinking her blood to save his own life, he had stolen hers from her.
“I must see my sons,” he insisted. “I must go to them… comfort them.” He turned to leave, but Lùthais caught him quickly by the shoulder and shook his head.
“No, Conall, ‘twill do nothing but ill for ye. Ye were thought dead for three nights; your sons bore ye and Aerona into the crypt themselves. ‘Twould frighten them to death to see ye coming home like nothing had happened.”
“Others have been buried alive before,” Conall retorted, pulling away from him. “Why is this different?”
“Because ye’re not the man ye were,” Lùthais reminded him gently. “If ye still may be called man. Ye’ve been Fae-touched, Goddess-cursed.”
“They don’t know that. They won’t know if I never tell them,” Conall countered, his eyes pleading.
“Until they see ye kill more animals for their blood. And what if ye can’t find sheep? What if ye’re far from home with only your sons beside ye, and your thirst drives ye to do to them as ye might have done to me?” Lùthais shuddered at the thought, but his eyes were firm as he looked at his friend. “Don’t go back to your sons, it isn’t safe for ye or them. Leave this place. Tonight.”
“Where? Where shall I go?” Conall wondered.
“Anywhere. As long as ye won’t be a danger to anyone.”
“I’ll need clothes… I can’t go about in what I was buried in. No one is as tall as I am, who could lend me anything?”
“Then I’ll pack for ye,” Lùthais offered. “Wait for me here, I’ll be back soon.” He hurried away, leaving Conall staring forlornly after him. The night seemed suddenly much colder than before.
- - -
Lùthais returned quickly with a full satchel, a hooded cloak, a walking stick and a sword, which he handed to Conall. “I packed all that would fit. Mostly clothes, and your bagpipes as well. I thought ye might like to keep them. Ye need not fret about your sons; I'll take care of them.”
Conall smiled gratefully, belting the sword to his waist and donning the cloak before shouldering the pack and taking the walking stick. “Thank ye, Lùthais. Ye’re a true friend -- aye, the truest. I’ll not forget ye, wherever I go. Blessed be.”
He bent and kissed his friend on the brow, then turned slowly and walked away. He left the city by a hidden but unguarded door, not once looking back. When he was beyond the wall, he stopped to get his bearings and start to make a plan. Where would be the best place to hide?
Of course -- the woods. No one in their right mind would go through there unless in an emergency. He would be safe there, Conall reasoned, if he was interpreting the Goddess’ words correctly. Living ‘as a shadow from the Otherworld’ seemed to mean that he was something like a Fae. Perhaps they would accept him.
His mind made up, Conall struck out swiftly and silently across the open ground. The moon watched him in silence as he reached the edge of the forest, vanishing into the shadows of the trees.
Conall shook his head, running his tongue carefully over his fangs. Now that Aimhirghin was gone, he was beginning to feel his thirst again… that painful thirst for the blood of the living. He couldn’t look at Lùthais; he tried not to listen to the beating of his heart. Beat, beat, beat. So much blood… throbbing, flowing…
No! Conall tensed, sucking in his breath. He would not harm his friend after having been halted from killing him moments ago. He would find blood elsewhere.
“What’s wrong?” Lùthais asked, his voice still low with concern. “Are ye ill?” He reached out with one hand to feel Conall’s brow, then flinched back. “Ye’re ice-cold!”
Conall nodded, still not looking at his friend. “I’m thirsty… so thirsty…”
“I’ll draw ye some water,” Lùthais offered, moving toward the door.
Conall shook his head again. “Not water… I need… blood. She told me. The Crone told me. Go… bring me something with blood. A calf, an ewe, something. I’ll not harm man or woman, least of all ye!”
Lùthais shrank back, fear coming back into his face. “Blood? The Crone? What are ye talking of, man?”
Conall snarled in his throat; it was an inhuman sound, such as a wolf would make. “Go!”
Lùthais started, then fled. Conall shrank back, looking out of the window at the moon as his friend’s heartbeat faded from his hearing and the temptation waned. How long had he lain in the crypt? The moon had been a little over half-full on the night of the banquet; now it was nearly round. He had been entombed for at least three nights. Little wonder he was so thirsty.
The sound of bleating reached his ears, and Lùthais returned, leading a young ewe before him. Conall’s eyes brightened as he pounced, pinning the animal to the floor. Finding the largest blood vessel in its neck, he bit down deep and gulped at the blood that sprayed up into his mouth. The ewe kicked against him, but quickly grew weaker, and soon lay limp.
Conall drew back, licking blood from his lips and making a low noise of satisfaction in his throat. He looked around, watching as Lùthais tentatively poked his head around the doorframe; he looked apologetically up at his friend, who looked as though he was trying not to vomit. “The things we must do to survive, eh…”
Lùthais nodded slowly. “Aye… better ewe than me,” he chuckled weakly. He did not come into the room.
“Ye can come in, it’s safe. I’m not thirsty anymore.” Conall climbed slowly to his feet, looking down at the dead ewe. “I don’t imagine ye’ll be wanting to do anything with that besides bury it…” He picked it up, taking a step toward the door. “I’ll take care of that. Thank ye.”
- - -
Conall pressed the last shovelful of earth down flat on top of the dead ewe, straightening up and brushing the dirt from his hands. He saw Lùthais coming out toward him and closed the distance between them. He noticed Lùthais’ unsettled expression, attributing it to the fact that the man had just watched him slaughter a sheep with his teeth, and stayed silent.
It was Lùthais who broke the silence. “What’s happened to ye? Ye consort with the Sidhe, ye say ye’ve seen the Goddess; ye were murdered, but here ye stand. And now ye drink the blood of animals. What are ye?”
Conall paused, thinking, and realized that the Goddess had not given a name for what he had become. “I… I don’t know. All I know is I’m no longer human. I’m cursed to live like a shadow from the Otherworld, hunted and feared for eternity.” He shuddered as he recalled Morrighan’s words.
“Eternity?” Lùthais’ eyebrows lifted. “No one lives for eternity but the Goddess and the Fae.”
“Then maybe I am Fae,” Conall answered. “Or something of that ilk.”
He stiffened suddenly as something occurred to him. “Lùthais… where are my sons?”
“Home,” his friend assured him. “Grieving, but both alive and safe. Losing both father and mother in one night was a terrible blow.”
Conall nodded slowly, his mind haunted by images of what remained of Aerona, rotting in the crypt. He had killed her; he had known it ever since he had woken and seen her. In drinking her blood to save his own life, he had stolen hers from her.
“I must see my sons,” he insisted. “I must go to them… comfort them.” He turned to leave, but Lùthais caught him quickly by the shoulder and shook his head.
“No, Conall, ‘twill do nothing but ill for ye. Ye were thought dead for three nights; your sons bore ye and Aerona into the crypt themselves. ‘Twould frighten them to death to see ye coming home like nothing had happened.”
“Others have been buried alive before,” Conall retorted, pulling away from him. “Why is this different?”
“Because ye’re not the man ye were,” Lùthais reminded him gently. “If ye still may be called man. Ye’ve been Fae-touched, Goddess-cursed.”
“They don’t know that. They won’t know if I never tell them,” Conall countered, his eyes pleading.
“Until they see ye kill more animals for their blood. And what if ye can’t find sheep? What if ye’re far from home with only your sons beside ye, and your thirst drives ye to do to them as ye might have done to me?” Lùthais shuddered at the thought, but his eyes were firm as he looked at his friend. “Don’t go back to your sons, it isn’t safe for ye or them. Leave this place. Tonight.”
“Where? Where shall I go?” Conall wondered.
“Anywhere. As long as ye won’t be a danger to anyone.”
“I’ll need clothes… I can’t go about in what I was buried in. No one is as tall as I am, who could lend me anything?”
“Then I’ll pack for ye,” Lùthais offered. “Wait for me here, I’ll be back soon.” He hurried away, leaving Conall staring forlornly after him. The night seemed suddenly much colder than before.
- - -
Lùthais returned quickly with a full satchel, a hooded cloak, a walking stick and a sword, which he handed to Conall. “I packed all that would fit. Mostly clothes, and your bagpipes as well. I thought ye might like to keep them. Ye need not fret about your sons; I'll take care of them.”
Conall smiled gratefully, belting the sword to his waist and donning the cloak before shouldering the pack and taking the walking stick. “Thank ye, Lùthais. Ye’re a true friend -- aye, the truest. I’ll not forget ye, wherever I go. Blessed be.”
He bent and kissed his friend on the brow, then turned slowly and walked away. He left the city by a hidden but unguarded door, not once looking back. When he was beyond the wall, he stopped to get his bearings and start to make a plan. Where would be the best place to hide?
Of course -- the woods. No one in their right mind would go through there unless in an emergency. He would be safe there, Conall reasoned, if he was interpreting the Goddess’ words correctly. Living ‘as a shadow from the Otherworld’ seemed to mean that he was something like a Fae. Perhaps they would accept him.
His mind made up, Conall struck out swiftly and silently across the open ground. The moon watched him in silence as he reached the edge of the forest, vanishing into the shadows of the trees.