Night Shadows

by Martin, Shirley

  Feeling around in the dim light, she settled herself on the cold floor and set the linen cloth with her food beside her. She forced a cheerful smile as her eyes rested on his haggard face, his emaciated body. Despair knifed through her, an unrelenting torment.

  Moreen tapped her on the shoulder. "I'll leave the two of you alone while I tend to the horses, take them down to the stream."

  Gaderian held up a scrawny hand. "No, stay here for a few minutes." He spoke in a rasping voice, scarcely above a whisper. "I have much to discuss and not much time."

  Not much time? Fianna's heart was breaking. What did he mean? She bit her lower lip, trying not to cry. She wanted to lie down next to him, cradle his head on her shoulder and tell him she couldn't live without him. Now, when it was too late, she realized how much she loved him. Too late? Oh, please don't let it be so.

  He held Fianna's gaze, then switched his attention to Moreen. "About the well at Magh Eamhainn and how the bandregas journey there for sustenance every moonphase-- I don't need to tell you what this means to me–to all of the undead."

  "Yes, but what are we going to do?" Moreen sank down beside Fianna, her silvery hair falling to her shoulders. She frowned. The torchlight cast shadows on the wall, creating an eerie ambience. "We must poison the water, but how?"

  Fianna caught the desperation in Moreen's voice, a distress that found response inside her. She twisted her fingers in her lap, her mind working while she prayed frantically for Gaderian's recovery and a solution to their problem.

  Gaderian spoke so faintly, Fianna and Moreen had to lean closer to hear him. "I've given the matter much thought while I've been lying here." He laughed without humor. "Not much else to do but think. Now, the well . . ." He shifted his position, wincing with pain. "Since I was an apothecary in my mortal life, I know more than a little about poisons. So here's what we must do. We will poison the well. Let's start with foxglove, but since it has a bitter taste. . . "

  Fianna watched his face while he spoke, every line, every muscle, as she listened to his muted voice, a voice that sounded as if it would give out any minute. The torchlight cast shadows on his face, at times darkening it, at others making it light. Goddess, how she loved him, but she agonized that it was too late for them. Afraid she'd made her worry too evident, she sat back and tried to impart the impression of merely concerned interest. His voice faded away, forcing her to lean forward again. She was crying inside; this might be the last she'd see him. She ran her fingers through her hair, then stopped when she caught his gaze on her.

  "...and so," Gaderian finished, "a mixture of these ingredients should kill the bandregas within hours after drinking from the well. Silver nitrate, too." He sighed and closed his eyes, as if speaking was too much of an effort. He looked at Moreen closely. "You can obtain these poisons from a local apothecary. There is one on Medros Lane." He shot her a glance. "Are you familiar with this apothecary?" At her nod, he went on. "Go there in the middle of the night, tomorrow, to get this mixture and leave ample payment. Don't forget a flask and a funnel. The poisons should be clearly marked."

  "That should not present a problem." Moreen paused, as though she had more to say.

  Gaderian shot her a troubled look. "What?" His hands moved restlessly across his chest.

  "Orrick has called a meeting of the undead representatives from around the country. The meeting has been forced upon him. You know how irresponsible he is, can't do anything on his own. But there have been too many complaints about the bandregas, too many for him to ignore." She hesitated. "If I am to procure the poisons and ride for the well at Magh Eamhainn, who is to attend the meeting? Since you're one of the representatives, he'd surely notice your absence." In a fit of frustration, she slapped her hand on her thigh. "That these two events should come so close together."

  Fianna's heart sank. She'd been listening to their dialogue without interruption, certain they could solve the problems, between the two of them. But now this presented a new aspect, one for which she saw no resolution. With the cold seeping through her, she pulled her cloak closer about her, unobtrusively, so they wouldn't notice. Shadows danced on the wall, and she heard the rush of waters in the distance. The drip, drip, drip of water close by became a constant irritant.

  "Not a coincidence," Gaderian said. "Apparently there are many aspects of human life that operate on a moonphase level, such as with women." He threw Fianna a smile. "We normally have a meeting at the beginning of every moonphase because that's when our power is greatest, when we can think our best. Seems to me that the bandregas draw their power at the beginning of every moonphase, too, even if it is with an element outside their body, in this case, the sacred well water." He frowned. "What makes it so upsetting this time is that it took Orrick so long to call a meeting of the Guild of the Undead."

  "But what shall we do now?" Moreen asked on a desperate note. "Shall we have another one of the undead ride to Magh Eamhainn?"

  Grimacing, Gaderian stretched his right leg out and shifted position. "Not sure how many of them know where Magh Eamhainn is. No reason why they should. Neither mortals nor the undead live there now, from what you've told me." His brows knit. "Besides, the fewer who know about the bandregas' secret, the better. As loyal as the other undead may be, some of them have a tendency to talk too much. Word gets around. The bandregas may catch on that we know their secret."

  "Then shall we ask Orrick to change the night of the meeting? Either move it up closer or have it later, after you have recovered."

  Gaderian slashed his hand through the air. "No! We should not change the date of the meeting. It will arouse suspicions, and once more, the rest of our kind will wonder why. We know many of the undead frequent the taverns of the mortals." He clenched his hands across his chest. "I just want to get this over with. Poison the well and be done with it!"

  "What about your friend Egan?" Moreen asked.

  He shook his head. "He's been away for some time, visiting friends in Uisnech, I believe."

  Moreen released a frustrated sigh and spoke in quiet, patient tones. "One of us must go to the meeting. That's all there is to it. The other representatives are out for blood, if you'll forgive the expression. We need a good, steady person such as you. Besides, our people have become tired of Orrick, no, disgusted. How many times have you told me that yourself? Also, there are other things our people want to discuss. We need to know the facts, what has been decided."

  Gaderian's features tightened. "We have no choice, then. I will go to the meeting. I've lain here too long, anyway. Should get used to standing again." He tried to rise, his face twisted with pain.

  Fianna placed a restraining hand on his chest, forcing him to lie back down. "I'll go."

  Moreen blinked. "To the meeting? But you're a mor–"

  "No, listen! I'll go to the well." Moreen and Gaderian spoke in unison, both of them objecting to her plan. Ignoring their arguments, she turned to Moreen. "Get the poison mixture and bring it to me." She thought for a moment. "I'll stay here with Gaderian. Meet me here early tomorrow morning, long before daylight. Leave one of the horses for me to ride. " Her mind struggled with ambivalent emotions. She wanted to spend as much time as possible with Gaderian, yes, but she was worried out of her mind about his condition. If she rode to Magh Eamhainn, she would be away from him for days. What if something happened to him while she was away? she wondered, not wanting to admit what that something might be.

  Moreen nodded. "Yes, but–"

  "No 'buts' about it. Meet me here tomorrow morning, say, two hours before daylight. That should give you time . . . ." She pressed her finger to her bottom lip. ". . . to sleep when you need to."

  Gaderian clasped her hand. "A big chance you're taking. So many things can go wrong. Not for the world would I have anything happen to you. What if a robber attacks you along the way? What if you get lost?"

  "I won't get lost, and I can outride any other rider. As for robbers, did I never tell you I'm very proficient with a dagger?" />
  At his look of surprise, Fianna spoke with conviction. "Well, I am."

  Once more, Gaderian shook his head. "I won't let you do it. I could not bear it if you met misfortune along the way."

  "Nothing will happen to me. Besides, I don't see that you have much choice." She nodded in Moreen's direction. "Be sure to get my dagger, sheathed in a leather belt in my drawer. And my long vest to cover it. I know where Magh Eamhainn is, slightly northwest of Sligo. I rode past it years ago with my family. My father scoffed at the idea that the village was cursed." She nodded with assurance, shifting position, her backside numb. "Which leaves Cedric to worry about."

  "Cedric?" Moreen asked.

  "The owner of the Snow Leopard. Someone will have to explain to him that I won't be there for a few days–"

  Moreen spoke again. "Well, I can do that. He already knows about your sick friend, assuming the barkeeper told him."

  More problems crowded into Fianna's mind. "Then there's the money he'll lose by my not scrying."

  "Don't be concerned about the money." Gaderian's voice evidenced his fatigue, his disability. "I'll reimburse him for any money you might lose." Apparently he realized the futility of further argument, accepting that this was something she alone must do. But he didn't look happy about it.

  Fianna leaned over to smooth his hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering on his skin. "So now you agree?"

  He sighed. "I still don't like it, but I'm afraid I have no choice, as you say. I couldn't bear it if . . . if you didn't come back," he said, his voice breaking.

  She nuzzled her face against his throat. "I will come back," she whispered.

  "It's settled then." Moreen's tone of assurance replaced her earlier skepticism. "I'll pack a saddlebag of clothes and such that you'll need and bring it here, let's say three hours before sunrise, which will be better for me. I'll go to the meeting in Gaderian's place and tell him the truth," she said with a look his way. "I'll tell him you're sick, and why. By that time, Fianna will already be on her way to Magh Eamhainn. Or arrived. The poisoning of the well will be an accomplished fact."

  Fianna tried to convince herself that she was helping Gaderian and all the vampires by traveling to Magh Eamhainn to poison the well. But oh! How she hated to leave Gaderian, now that they had discovered how much they meant to each other. Would he be alive when she returned? If something happened to him, she didn't want to live.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Alone with Gaderian, Fianna lay down beside him and clasped his hand, his skin as dry as parchment and cold as ice. She ignored the discomfort of the frigid limestone floor, content to spend this time with the man she loved, but more worried about his illness than she cared to admit. Goddess, she prayed as she had so many times, make him well again. Despite her interrupted sleep last night, she felt wide awake, and all the things she wanted to talk about crowded her brain, until she didn't know where to start. With every breath she took, she feared she had too little time in which to tell him all the matters that pressed heavy on her heart.

  "I will get better, you know." It seemed he could read her mind. His voice, low and rasping, broke through her thoughts, as welcome as sunshine after a thunderstorm. She ached to kiss him, caress him, make up for the time she'd questioned her love for him. Now, she agonized that it was too late to tell him all she wanted to say, but she wanted to accept his reassuring words.

  She squeezed his hand. "Goddess, I pray it will be so." But deep distress still touched her mind, an ever-present fear that he would not recover. He looked and sounded much worse than on her last visit.

  He returned the squeeze. "I will get better. Having you with me has made all the difference in the world. And if I could believe that you cared for me–"

  "You know I do, although it took me a long time to realize it." While I suffered under Stilo's enchantment, she silently acknowledged. And now? Did any future happiness exist for them? She wanted to live her own life, make her own decisions, stay in one place, once and for all. Could she achieve these desires if she married him? But wait; he hadn't said a word about marriage. Even if they didn't marry, could they achieve happiness together? She didn't see how, unless he let her live her life as she wanted. It gave her a sense of pride to have a job she considered fascinating and useful, to be earning her own money. She was her own woman and wanted–needed– to remain that way.

  For now, she would forego these thoughts of the future and live only for the present, take each day as it came, her main wish to see him well again.

  "–and when I'm better, I want you to move in with me, where you will be safe." He spoke with more resolution now, his voice stronger. "I don't want to wonder from one night to the next if you'll still be in the tavern, or if your fiancé–"

  "Not my fiancé!"

  "–the man who wants to marry you. I don't want to even consider that he might come for you. You will be safe at my house," he repeated. "The renovations are complete. I intend to move in as soon as I recover here. Can't move in while I'm sick. My servants will wonder enough about me–why they never see me in the daytime. And although I expect their loyalty, they will wonder more if they don't see me at all. When you move in, I will expect no obligations from you," he said with a slight chuckle. "I told you that once before, remember?"

  "Yes." But could she resist him? Not likely. While Gaderian spoke, Fianna pondered how to tell him she didn't need anyone; she could take care of herself. And decided the direct way was best. "For the longest time, I have wanted independence. I have my own life to live now, and that means much to me. I told you that before, remember?"

  "Yes, and I also recall that Stilo Mongan cast a spell on you once and nearly succeeded a second time. I recognized your disorientation the last time you visited me here–"

  "I wasn't disoriented!" Yet he spoke the truth, a truth she feared to accept. She had come so close to succumbing to Stilo's malignant magnetism a second time. Afraid their discussion would soon degenerate into an argument, she raised herself and leaned across his chest. "Please, dear, let us not disagree in the little time we have together. Let's make the most of these hours we have with each other." She lifted her head and kissed him on the lips, her breasts cushioned against his chest. Her kiss deepened, a heavy passion inside revealing how much she had yearned for him all these moonphases since first meeting him. She tangled her fingers in his long, curly hair, letting her hand linger on his neck.

  "Ah, yes!" Moaning, he wrapped his arms across her back and eased her closer. Through his tunic, she felt the movement of his muscles, the pressure of his arms drawing her nearer. A deep hunger blazed inside her, a craving so long denied during their separation when she suspected him of evil.

  Pressing ever closer, she feathered kisses on his chest and throat while he changed position, his fingers and hands caressing her breasts, moving downward to cup her buttocks, his breath coming in gasps. She wanted their lovemaking to go on and on, but they must stop. Besides, she told herself with righteous justification, he was sick. With a reluctance that bordered on despair, she withdrew from him and once more settled next to him. She was still on fire from wanting him, waiting for her passion to subside. She breathed deeply, a throbbing in her feminine core.

  A short laugh rumbled in his throat. "See, I told you I would get better. All I needed was you. I still have a long way to go, mind you, and I don't yet have the strength to stand." He sighed. "If only I could go to Magh Eamhainn in your place. The thought of you putting your life in danger . . ."

  She turned his way. "How can I be in danger? If I start out tomorrow night, it won't take me long to get to the well. I'll arrive there several days before the next moonphase." She leaned over to place a light kiss on his mouth. "Don't be concerned about me. Haven't I said, time and again, I can take care of myself. Yes, I know you saved me from Stilo's ensnarement, but since then I've learned to fight him, resist him. I'm safe from him now."

  "What about the man who wants to marry you?"

&nbs
p; "The man I don't want to marry. So what if he comes after me? What's he going to do, drag me back to Ros Creda? I won't go," she said simply. "I'm my own person."

  "We must discuss these things more," Gaderian said, his voice slurring. "But not now."

  "One more quick question." She nodded toward the torchlight. "Does that light never go out?"

  "Magic," he murmured. "Magic keeps it lit." He lay silent, his eyes closed, his body rigid. Fianna sensed it was daylight outside, his time for sleeping.

  Hungry now, she sat up and unwrapped her linen cloth and bit into the honey cake, its rich texture thick with almonds. She ate every bit of it, thankful she had remembered to bring food. While its almondy taste lingered in her mouth, she brushed her hands off and bit into the apple, the sweet juices running down her chin. Dabbing the cloth across her mouth, she regretted not having more food with her. This small repast would have to last until tomorrow night, when Moreen returned. She wished she'd brought more food with her, but her anxiety to see Gaderian had blotted out every other consideration.