Of Blood and Honey (Fey and the Fallen)

by Stina Leicht

  “Mother!” Mary Kate said. “Don’t be cruel.”

  Mrs. Gallagher opened her arms with a smile. “Come give your future mother-in-law a hug, son. I’ll not bite.”

  “Don’t you believe her for a moment,” Mr. Gallagher said and winked. “She has very strong teeth. As does her daughter.”

  Mary Kate seemed to relax.

  “Your father has good news,” Mrs. Gallagher said, pushing the hair out of Liam’s eyes. “Notice came in the mail yesterday, but it got delivered to Mr. Rooney next door.”

  “What?” Mary Kate asked.

  Mr. Gallagher grinned. “We’ve been awarded a house. Finally. In the Creggan.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Mary Kate said, “Just in time for me to move out.”

  “Congratulations,” Liam said.

  “Ten years waiting. Didn’t think it’d ever happen,” Mr. Gallagher said.

  Officials climbed up into the coal truck at the front of the crowd. One of the men brought a microphone to his lips. It didn’t seem to be working. His voice was lost in the noise of the crowd.

  “That’s Bernadette Devlin,” Mary Kate said, pointing to the pretty brunette at the back of the coal truck. Mary Kate knew he didn’t pay attention to politics, but that didn’t stop her from explaining. “Did you know she’s only twenty-five? Elected when she was twenty-one. The youngest member of Parliament in history. I’m going to be just like her.”

  Liam shook his head, feeling a blush burn on his cheeks as Sean frowned at him. “You’ll have to go to university first.”

  “I’ll pass exams. You’ll see. And you’ll go with me.”

  “You know I can’t,” Liam said.

  “No one can stop you from going back. You could catch up. You’re not stupid. Sister Margaret. What does she know?”

  Not wanting to disappoint her, he nodded.

  The coal truck moved down Williams Street and the crowd with it. People sang. Others shouted slogans. Liam thought Mary Kate might be right, that he had worried for nothing—until they reached Aggro Corner. That was when he saw the troops on the roof of the abandoned shirt factory and along the wall near the Presbyterian Church. Something wasn’t right. Unlike the BA regulars, the paratroopers—Liam spotted their red berets—weren’t wearing riot gear. In sniper positions, their guns were pointed at the crowd. Why? Even he knew the IRA was taking the day off, and he had purposely avoided the subject. It gave Liam a chill. As the coal truck sped past Aggro Corner, chaos pressed in. A group bolted down Williams Street, shouting, and he and Mary Kate were carried along with them. Rocks bounced off corrugated iron nailed to the fronts of the burned-out buildings.

  “I don’t like this,” he said to no one in particular. He couldn’t have explained why. The situation wasn’t any worse than usual—less so, in fact—but the Paras frightened him. Perhaps it was because this was the first time he’d been near Aggro Corner since his arrest.

  “We’re not supposed to be here. We were supposed to go to Rossville Street,” Mary Kate screamed over the crowd. She stumbled. “Liam!” She grabbed for his hand, and he folded himself around her in an attempt to keep her from getting trampled.

  “We have to get out of here,” he shouted in her ear to be heard. Then he pulled her up, steadying her.

  A man’s voice over the loudspeaker made an announcement. “This assembly may lead to a breach of the peace. You are to disperse immediately.”

  The crowd let out a roar and rushed the barricade. A volley of stones, bottles, boards, anything close to hand shot into the air aimed at the soldiers. Liam grabbed Mary Kate and held her to his chest as they were propelled closer to McCool’s Newsagent and the barricade. In the crush, Liam heard the growl of a diesel engine. The pavement shuddered under his feet and then a flood of water smashed into the man standing beside him, driving him to the ground. Liam was soaked. Riot guns went off. Protesters scattered, and he was able to see the water cannon lumbering down the street. Two CS cloud columns drifted toward the barricade. The troops were laughing and cheering.

  With the crowd dispersing, he was able to pull Mary Kate a few steps in the direction of Chamberlain Street.

  Someone somewhere shouted in a sing-song voice, “Where is your brother, taig? Where is your Da?”

  “Don’t you laugh! Don’t you dare!” She jerked her arm from his grip and snatched up a paving stone from a pile of rubble. “Bastards!” She threw it with all her might.

  “Mary Kate! Stop!” He dashed after her. More CS gas canisters bounced and clattered in the street, spewing a fog of peppery smoke in their wake. Liam put a hand over his face to keep from breathing it in. More riot guns thumped and flashed in the smoke. He’d lost her. Rubber bullets whizzed past. People screamed. Cried. Then Mary Kate trotted back to him in the mist, holding a handkerchief over her nose and mouth. She stuffed a wet cloth into his other hand, and he smashed it to his face. Breathing in vinegar, his eyes watered. Nearby, someone threw up.

  Have to do something, he thought. Get her out of here.

  He tied the handkerchief over his mouth and nose like a television bandit from the Wild West. Once it was in place, he grabbed her arm again. When she struggled he pulled her up against his chest and half-carried her. “We’re going home.”

  “Those bastards! They can’t treat us like this! They laughed! They’ve no right!”

  He got her as far as the first doorway before she kneed him in her frenzy. He released her at once and stooped with his hands on his knees, blinking back the pain.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Is it the gas?”

  “If you’re planning on us having children one day I’d suggest you not do that again.”

  She put both hands over her mouth, stifling a horrified laugh. “I’m so sorry.”

  A window hissed open and a woman’s voice shouted from above, “Girl, get your young man out of here before he’s taken.”

  He looked up.

  “Purple dye. You’re covered in it. They’ll know you for a rioter for sure. Hurry up. They’re coming.” The woman slammed the window shut.

  Mary Kate said, “Oh, Liam, your new sweater. It’s ruined.”

  People jogged past. Some of them were sobbing. Even more flooded the narrow street. In a moment there wouldn’t be room enough to run. Again, he grabbed her hand, and they trotted together. He heard panicked screams and glanced behind. This isn’t happening, he thought. It can’t be. A large group of Paras charged down the street. Saracens brought up the rear. One stopped, disgorging troops who snatched men from the crowd. He heard gun fire and couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from. The sound was different from the riot guns. Sharper.

  “They’ve killed a boy on Rossville!” A woman screamed as they passed Eden Place. Tears streamed down her face. “A little boy! Shot him dead. In the back. I saw it.”

  He wanted to stop and help her, but the soldiers were closing, and he had to get Mary Kate somewhere safe. More shots. More screams. Something thumped him hard in the back. He stumbled. Rubber bullet, he thought. Only a rubber bullet. If it were real it’d hurt worse. Right? He slowed. It was hard to breathe.

  A man shouted, “They’re killing us!”

  Mary Kate grasped Liam’s arm with both hands tight enough to bruise, and then someone slammed him against the brick wall. Through the pain he saw Mary Kate throw herself on a Para, knocking his red beret off.

  “Let him go!”

  The Para turned on Mary Kate. He swung the barrel of his gun, hitting her in the face. Drops of blood dotted the concrete in slow motion. Mary Kate collapsed. The Para stood over her, holding his rifle like a club.

  “No!”

  The Para looked at him. His face shifted, and he grinned. It was that same wrinkled face. The same teeth filed to sharp points. The same red glowing eyes. “Hello, dog. The mac Cumhaill is a long way from here. Your master won’t help you now.”

  I’ve gone mad, Liam thought.

  “Is she sweet, your plaything?” the
creature asked, its voice like gravel. It sniffed the air over Mary Kate who was bunched up and sobbing on the pavement with her hands over her head. “I smell your spunk. You’ve had her. Shall I shoot?” It pointed the rifle.

  Liam flung himself over Mary Kate. He heard the creature guffaw and then the blows came. From a long way away he heard Mary Kate screaming. Please God, let him shoot me, not her, he prayed. She’s going to be an MP. She’ll save us all. I can’t even read.

  “You should’ve stayed in Long Kesh.” The creature switched from hitting to kicking. More laughter. Others joined in. Liam was cocooned in dull pain.

  I’ve lived through this before, he thought. Won’t be so bad. Then something smashed into the back of his head, and it all went black.

  Chapter 10

  Malone Prison

  Malone, County Antrim, Northern Ireland

  August 1972

  A blast of cold moist air stung Liam’s cheeks and penetrated his coat. Malone wasn’t much different from the Kesh—more structured, perhaps. Another hastily converted WWII facility, it was slightly less crowded and somewhat cleaner. There were fewer internees, and the prisoners were more hardened. All appeared to be paramilitaries of one stripe or another. Squatting with his back against the hut he shared with thirty others, he pulled his anorak tighter to no avail. A game was taking place in the football pitch, and shouts echoed off the tin buildings. Aloud thump reverberated through the corrugated metal at Liam’s back. Assuming it didn’t involve him, he didn’t bother looking down the narrow path. Instead, he wished himself invisible.

  He was new to Cage Seven and as such, sitting alone was dangerous. One of the others might happen along at any moment, but he was having one of his bad days, and the narrow spaces between the nissen huts were the closest thing to privacy available. The corroding tin wall wasn’t much of a view. However, there weren’t many alternatives since Cage Seven was located in the center of the prison. Looking out through the chain-link fence would only mean seeing yet another cage and other prisoners—which was fine if you wanted to trade or needed news of the outside, but Liam had had his fill of news from the outside.

  Mary Kate had been accepted at Queen’s University. She would be leaving for Belfast any day now. A confusion of emotions crowded his skull. On one hand, he was proud of her, but he was angry too. She was off living her life. A life he couldn’t share through no fault of his own. Then there was the fear. Compared to Derry, Belfast was a metropolitan city, and she would navigate it without the support of her family and more importantly, without him.

  An image of Mary Kate tossing chunks of pavement stone at BAs sprang to mind, and a reluctant smile crept across his face.

  Perhaps, it’s not her I should worry for, he thought.

  Crunching footsteps snapped him out of his reverie. A stocky man whose square face was framed in a neat brown beard settled in the gravel next to him. Reaching into a pocket, the man said, “My name is Jack.” He held out a cigarette and a lighter, “Yours?”

  “Liam.” He accepted the proffered lighter with a pounding heart and lit the cigarette.

  Gazing down the path toward the game, Jack pocketed the lighter. “Been watching you, Liam.”

  Liam focused on the end of his cigarette in an effort to disguise his fear. He had kept to himself to prevent trouble, and more importantly, to keep a tight rein on the beast that lurked so close under his skin. He’d had nightmares of what would happen if the thing got loose again, but every day it became more difficult to maintain control. Twice during questioning at the Holywood interrogation center it had almost slipped free. He was proud of having managed to keep from harming anyone in spite of how far he’d been pushed. Luckily, he wasn’t in Holywood anymore. At Malone the BAs patrolled outside the walls, not within them, and so for the most part he’d been left alone. In return, he had done his best not to draw attention. His first week at Malone had been spent doing what was expected without complaint or comment. He got up when he was told, participated in cleaning the barrack when it was his turn, kept the boiler full of water for the tea as assigned and otherwise walked the grounds as the others did. Everything was going to plan.

  Until now.

  In spite of the repercussions, it was obvious the prison guards at Malone didn’t exert any special effort to segregate Republicans from Loyalists, let alone Official IRA from Provisional; however, based on snatches of overheard conversation, he had surmised the men in Cage Seven were mainly Provos. A few of them seemed to know one another from the outside, and based upon what he’d overheard, Liam was relatively certain the man next to him was the OC—Officer in Charge.

  “You’re not participating in the game,” Jack said. “Are you well?”

  “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir.”

  Jack examined his face long enough to make Liam nervous. “I suppose an eye like that would make the idea of football less than appealing.”

  Liam carefully touched the bruise. His left eye was still tender—a parting gift from a BA as he had boarded the helicopter that had taken him from Holywood to Malone. Three days ago the eye had been swollen shut, and he’d worried about losing his sight, but he had been blessed with easy recoveries before, and this time hadn’t proven different. The eye seemed to be healing well with no change in his vision.

  “You’ve not been to class either. Nor have I seen you chatting with any of the others. We’re not criminals—no matter how hard the British try to make us so. We’re Prisoners of War. As such, we’ve rules here. Not their rules,” Jack said, obviously meaning the screws. “Our rules. Is there something you need to tell me?”

  Liam shook his head. The temperature between the huts dropped as blood drained from his extremities, and every muscle tensed. There had been a Loyalist—a self-proclaimed member of the Ulster Defence Association among the prisoners at the start of his stay. The UDA man had apparently lasted two weeks before his mouth broke his nose for him—and then some. Liam had seen what the Republicans had left in the hut the next morning. He’d watched as the screws had carried the remains off on the stretcher. It had been his third night at Malone, and the image had left an indelible impression. Liam was no Loyalist, but that didn’t mean Jack knew it. Without moving, Liam checked the space between the buildings for obstacles; although, it would only delay the inevitable. There wasn’t anywhere to run to.

  “Frankie thinks he may have seen you in Holywood a month ago. Where are you from?”

  “Derry, sir.”

  “Ah,” Jack said, “And what are you in for, Liam from Derry?”

  “Was on a march. Anti-internment. Was picked up. BAs said I was rioting.”

  “And were you?”

  “No, sir,” Liam said. “Only been out of Long Kesh a few days. Didn’t want trouble. Still don’t.”

  Jack nodded, but his face didn’t lose its hardness underneath the smile. “And why were you sent to the Kesh?”

  Liam shrugged. “Watching the Frontliners throw rocks on Aggro Corner.”

  Jack whistled. “You’re one poor luckless bastard. But I suppose when it comes down to it, we all are.”

  There was a shout and a thump. The football slammed into another hut.

  “As I was saying,” Jack continued, “We’ve rules here, and participation is compulsory.”

  “I’m not political. Only want to get back home to—”

  “Doesn’t have to be sport,” Jack said, his face growing softer. “Although, it’s likely we’ll only have the ball a few more days. The BAs are due for their regular tour, and it’ll probably need more than a patch after they’ve done with it. You should attend class tomorrow. We’re reading Shakespeare— Hamlet, to be precise.”

  “Shakespeare?”

  Jack grinned, and Liam saw it was a real smile this time, devoid of judgment or calculation for the moment. “You were expecting a lecture on the sudden and violent release of mechanical or chemical energy from a confined space?” he asked. “Sorry to disappoint, but I earned my degree i
n literature, not chemistry. Although, if you’ve never read Hamlet, the end is rather violent. The descriptive ‘explosive’ might be a bit of a stretch, though.”

  And that was how Liam had met Jack Rynne, secondary school teacher from Belfast and volunteer for the Provisional IRA.

  Jack was proven right about the BAs’ tour. The next night Liam woke to the bang and rattle of the hut being unlocked. The lights came on and someone shouted, “Go to the wire!”

  Assuming the situation was much the same as in the Kesh, Liam stayed as he was until the hut OC said to comply. At that, everyone went out in the cold and lined up against the chain link fence while the BAs ripped through the contents of lockers and tossed bedding. As the hut was given the go over a second set of BAs went down the row of prisoners and conducted a body search. Dressed only in his kacks, Liam attempted not to show his nervousness, but when a man was pulled from the wire and beaten he began to shiver. Not wanting to be known for a coward, he stared ahead and hoped no one would notice.

  “It’ll be all right,” the man next to him said. Liam had noticed him before. He had a nasty scar running through his eyebrow and half down his cheek. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Be over with soon. After they’ve had their fun.”

  Liam nodded and waited his turn, fingers hooked in the steel links and staring into the next cage. When his time came the BAs weren’t particularly rough about it, and it was over with quickly. An hour and a half later, everyone was told to go back to their huts and the locks were replaced. It took some time to sort out the cots and the bedding, but eventually everyone got back to sleep.

  Seven-thirty came terribly early the next morning.

  “Maidin mhaith,” a blond prisoner said with a grin.

  The man with the scar said, “Oh, fuck you, Jimmy.”

  Half-awake, Liam asked, “What did he say?”

  “Good morning,” the man with the scar said. “It’s too fucking early to be that fucking happy. Particularly after last night.”

  With little interest in much else and no real choice in the matter, Liam decided classes might not be so bad. Eight months of prodding from Jack, Mary Kate’s optimism, his own obstinacy, and a large number of strategically invested cigarettes managed to get Liam through fifth year. Knowing full well the Gallagher family’s position on his lack of Irish, he’d also been picking up what he could from the other prisoners. It wasn’t easy. There weren’t many fluent speakers even among the staunchest Republican prisoners, and most of the common prison vocabulary consisted of words he wouldn’t have used in front of Mary Kate, let alone her mother. However, he was able to glean a few phrases. To show off, he decided to surprise Mary Kate during her next visit. He entered the room with its rows of folding tables and chairs. Other prisoners sat opposite their loved ones and friends, talking quietly. It didn’t take him long to spot her. She stood up and waved. She was wearing a short brown skirt and a corduroy jacket with a sheep fur collar. It looked new.