Chapter 24 #2
That stopped him, jaw tightening, shoulders stiff, as the bárd stared at him. Rory laid her hand on his bicep, squeezing gently, and even now, despite everything, even in the face of almost certain death, Locke felt the primal urge to lash out against the man whom his wife touched so naturally.
Not his wife, he reminded himself grimly. Not for much longer, anyway.
“Lord Locke.” She stepped between the two men, her expression cool as she studied him.
“I give you my word that if you tell us what you know about The Bright One, about…my brother – with no deception and no lies, and I assure you that I will know if you try to lie – then I swear we will not harm a hair on your head.”
The memory of ènna, convulsing on the ground, the screams being ripped from his by her horrific, ephemeral shadows, shuddered through him.
“Swear,” he said. “Swear that you will never use your magic on me – once it returns, that is – in any capacity, whatsoever, and that neither you nor your bárd here will ever harm a hair on my head, and then I will tell you what I know.”
A flicker of disappointment passed over her face, and he felt a strange surge of regret. So she had thought to do it then, to torment him into madness, to plague him with visions of destruction and despair against which he could have no hope of defending himself.
It shouldn’t bother him so much, this proof that she cared not a whit for him.
“I swear it,” she said after a long moment. “No harm of any kind, to your body or your mind, shall be done to you by either my hand or his.” She spread her arms. “Satisfied?”
He eyed Finn and the others warily. “What about them?”
“They won’t kill you either,” said Rory, a bit begrudgingly.
“For now,” said Dil.
“Ever,” Locke snapped, and Rory’s lips tightened before she gave Dil a short nod.
She huffed. “Ever,” she spat on the ground. “I swear never to harm you, Locke MacMurchada.”
Gareth nodded once, lips tight. “As do I.”
Locke smiled thinly. “And you, bárd? How do you swear?”
Finn stared at him, the sword gripped tight and sure in his hands, and Locke braced himself for the attack that was sure to come, a battle he almost certainly could not win, not against such a monster of a man as this, as tall and broad-shouldered as the rocks strewn about the hillside on which they stood.
“Finn,” said Rory, quiet and firm, and Locke watched as the tension vibrating through the bárd eased, his fists slowly unclenching at his sides.
“I swear,” said the bárd, “on my father’s cairn, on the bones of my mother, that I shall not harm you, Lord MacMurchada – unless.
” Finn held up a finger, green eyes almost black with loathing.
“Unless you raise a hand in harm to her, my queen – then make no mistake, I will rend you limb from limb and leave your bones for the crows to pick clean, your sinews for the wolf-pups that prowl in the night, and –”
“Yes, thank you, your point is quite clear, but never fear. I would never dream of harming her – not when I might be doing other, far more interesting things with her, don’t you know.
” Locke grinned, rocking back on his heels, and Rory moved forward to press a cautionary hand to the bárd’s arm as Finn took a step forward forbiddingly.
Locke refused to quail, even as a bead of sweat crept down his back at the sight of this giant looming over him.
“Now start talking,” Rory said with a scornful look in his direction. “What do you know about Albion’s ultimate plan for éire?”
“It’s about what you’d expect,” said Locke, scratching at his chin. “Mass subjugation, oppression, rank exploitation of her goods, treasures, and people. The usual, really. They lack all sense of imagination.”
“I cannot wait,” interjected Dil, “until she permits me to rip your insufferable head right from your body.”
“Yes, well. Unfortunately for you, you only just swore never to do any such thing.”
“Make no mistake,” said Finn, “if all is lost, my vows be damned – the last thing I will do in this life will be to hunt you down and kill you as slow and sure as I can.”
Locke tsked. “Terrible idea,” he said. “Truly awful plan for your last moments of life. You’d be much better off grabbing for a bottle of whiskey and a buxom lass and getting well and thoroughly –”
“Oh for the love of Medb’s bull, enough,” Rory said, rubbing at her temples. “The witch, Lord Locke. Tell me what it is you know about Aoife so we may be through with one another at last.”
“Will we?” Locke shrugged. “We made certain promises to one another, did we not, my lady?”
She frowned, and for a moment, their gazes locked, both of them, he knew, remembering that brief moment when their hands were bound together, standing face to face as they murmured those ancient words of devotion to one another.
To you, they had said, shall I be the star in the night, the brightness of the day.
They had not done much of anything but lie, and scheme, and seek to doom the other – dark deeds all, with very little of light to them.
Another flash of memory swept through him. To you, they had each sworn, I grant my living and my dying.
That one, they had certainly not kept – neither of them, and the look on her face, steady and grim, told him that she had the same thoughts as he did on the matter.
Almost as though she was remembering that same moment, her dark silver eyes grew hard and unforgiving as flint.
“It was nothing more than a ruse, Lord Locke – the words we spoke to one another. For both of us, it was simply a means to an end. Do you truly think that I would ever allow myself to be bound to the likes of you, traitor that you are?”
“I am not a traitor,” Locke said yet again, a bit wearily.
“Oisín’s beard, you people are the most incorrigible lot of hardheaded fools.
My father was a traitor. I, on the other hand, am a survivor.
” He ignored the grumbles from the others as he continued to speak only to her.
“I know something about the witch that not even Ironstring or my father know – knew, that is.” He took a deep breath.
“I know why she chose to ally herself with, and then betray, your brother.”
It was almost imperceptible, her wince, but he saw it nonetheless.
Even now, he thought, it pained her, the loss of him.
What must it be like, to inspire that kind of devotion, to be worthy of that kind of love.
“For vengeance against me, I expect,” she said.
“I fought her, years ago, and burnt her body to ash. I’m sure she has held tightly to that grudge. ”
“I’m sure she has, but that was not why she killed your brother – at least not entirely,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. “She did it because she has resurrected the destroyer,” said Locke. “Meiche.”
Rory stared at him, lips growing white. “The child of the Mórrígan, the boy with serpents in his hearts – that Meiche?”
“The one and the same.”
“Impossible. I know this story. Dian Cécht cut them out of his chest and burned them before throwing them in the River Barrow.”
“So the legend says, but there’s not much written about the boy, this mysterious, monstrous firstborn of the Phantom Queen. I don’t know how she did it, but only that she has – and why.”
Finn spoke up now, gruff and terse. “To kill us,” he said. “She’ll unleash the destroyer on us in the field of battle and watch as it consumes us, body and soul.”
“Not just us,” said Locke. “I rather think the cailleach has far more sinister designs than one measly war. I think,” said Locke, crossing his ankles as he leaned against the tree behind him, “she does indeed mean to unleash the boy on the battlefield, but not to our ruination alone.”
“Everyone,” murmured Rory. “All of éire, and beyond.”
“Very good, my lady.” Locke smiled. “Aoife intends to destroy humanity itself.”