Of Blood and Honey (Fey and the Fallen)

by Stina Leicht

  “Was in a cave. With my real father. Was it a dream?”

  “He found you after the… accident. You were with him for a time. But you wouldn’t heal. So, he brought you to me.” Father Murray set the tray on the edge of the crowded table and then grabbed a cushioned chair from against the wall.

  “Why here? How? Gran hates me. The very idea of her letting you keep me here—”

  “I didn’t convince her. Bran did.”

  “You should’ve let me die.”

  Sitting in the chair and balancing the tray on his knees, Father Murray frowned. “Why would we have done such a thing?”

  “What is it you want from me?”

  “You can eat some of this broth for a start.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “How long has it been since you last ate?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Are you attempting to starve yourself to death?”

  Liam didn’t say a word.

  “We’ve all of us made mistakes,” Father Murray said. “It’s a burden to live with for certain, but it must be done.”

  “Why?”

  “Because our time isn’t yet finished. Only the Lord can make that decision.”

  “I’d like to know one goddamned thing that ever was my decision.”

  Father Murray put down the spoon. “All that anger. You should let it go. Do something with the life you have. You’ve already lost so much.”

  “You don’t know a fucking thing about me. Not anymore. Don’t pretend you do.”

  “Perhaps I don’t,” Father Murray said. “But the young man I knew wouldn’t have let anyone or anything keep him from doing the right thing.”

  “Mary Kate was the strong one. Not me.”

  Father Murray set the tray on the edge of the table and then picked up a pipe from amongst the clutter. “That isn’t true.” He put a finger inside the pipe’s bowl to clean it out. Then he placed an ash tray on the floor next to the leg of his chair. “Have you forgiven her yet?”

  “Who?”

  “You heard me. Mary Kate.”

  Liam’s thoughts flashed to the baby, the one she’d never told him about. The one she’d killed. He felt guilty for it at once. “I don’t need to forgive her for anything.”

  “You don’t blame her for dying?” Father Murray reached inside his jacket and brought out a tobacco pouch. He fussed with his pipe for a while then lit the tobacco with a match. There was a slight tremble in his fingers. He took two puffs and closed his eyes for a moment. The pleasant smell of pipe smoke drifted on the air.

  It suddenly occurred to Liam that Father Murray might be right. There was a reason he’d never come back to Derry, a reason why he’d never visited Mary Kate’s grave. He could have asked Oran for permission. Oran. Liam closed his burning eyes. Poor Oran.

  It hadn’t only been that he was unwilling to accept that she was dead. Had it? He was angry with her, bloody furious, in fact. Even so, he hated himself for it. It wasn’t right. She’d said she was sorry with her last words. He was certain she’d meant the first child, not the last. She wanted to be forgiven. Needed it. And he hadn’t forgiven her, had he? Her only fault had been in believing what Father Murray had told her, in doing as the Church had directed her to do. Was she really at fault?

  Yes. Every bit at fault as he was for all those he’d killed for the ’Ra, and for revenge— The woman in the street. Oh, Jesus. The children— Everyone had their regrets. Everyone made mistakes.

  Some more terrible than others.

  Something in his chest loosened. “It isn’t as if Mary Kate asked to die.”

  “No, but still, she left you. Alone,” Father Murray said. “I’ve lost someone too. I understand what that’s like.”

  “Do you, now? Do you also know what it’s like having the Church convince your wife that you’re demon spawn, and your children are too monstrous to live?”

  Father Murray tapped out his pipe and left it in the ash tray. He wove his fingers together and stared at his hands. “I’m truly sorry for that.”

  “I don’t want your fucking apology!”

  “You don’t have to forgive me. I won’t ask you for that. It’s too much,” Father Murray said. “You don’t have to do anything. But do you think Mary Kate would’ve wanted you to waste your life like this?”

  Father Murray stopped talking and filled his pipe a second time. He returned to smoking in silence while Liam shut his eyes, determined to remain silent. The edges of his eyelids gathered moisture that threatened to spill onto his cheeks. It only made him furious. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him be? Why couldn’t he have one damned thing as he wanted it? The petulance in the thought didn’t escape him, but it only enraged him further.

  “The Church has made a horrific mistake. And I’ve done vile things in its service.” Father Murray sounded uncomfortable and tired—as if the words he spoke came at great cost. “Life is so diverse. There are more creatures, more entities than the Church acknowledges. Ghosts, demons and angels. Not every supernatural being falls in those categories,” he said. “I can’t let the killing go on. I won’t. And that is, I believe, the reason I still live. I must. In spite of all the terrible things I’ve done. There isn’t anyone else.”

  Suddenly, Liam’s mouth felt very dry. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying beings that should never have been harmed have been executed because the Church is unwilling to admit its policies are wrong. I’m saying,” Father Murray said, “I’m no longer working in support of those policies.”

  “You’re no longer a priest?”

  “I’ve not left the Church,” Father Murray said. “Although, I’m not entirely certain of what would be made of my current beliefs. Nonetheless, I’m doing what I can. I discussed my discovery with the bishop before I resigned from the Order. He remained unconvinced, I’m afraid. But I made the attempt.”

  “You tried to get them to stop murdering babbies?”

  Father Murray nodded. “The arch bishop said that even if it were possible that other magical beings might exist, none were listed in the Bible and therefore weren’t to be considered part of God’s plan.”

  “The platypus isn’t listed in the Bible, Father. Does that make it worthy of execution?”

  A small smile appeared on Father Murray’s face. “A tidy argument, that. But the problem runs deeper. Were the Church to acknowledge that other supernatural beings exist outside of standard Christianity, two facts would become immediately apparent. One: if other powerful entities exist then other religions—non-Christian religions—might contain valid truths, and therefore, may be legitimate in general. And two: that the Catholic Church has participated in genocide for centuries.”

  Liam blinked.

  “As much as I wish to believe otherwise, the Roman Catholic Church isn’t likely to adapt its policies. Not in this. To do so would threaten the very existence of the Church.

  “Nonetheless, I’ve been observing the Order’s targets on my own. The ones in Belfast. I’ve been identifying. Categorizing. If I am reasonably uncertain of the status of suspected Fallen, I’ve attempted contact and issued warnings. However, both my inexperience and my being a priest have meant my success rate hasn’t been all that high. I can’t say as I blame anyone for not listening to me.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve been praying for guidance. Assistance. And I think I may have just gotten my answer.”

  “Why not merely stop being a priest?”

  “My belief in God and my vocation aren’t in question.”

  Liam frowned. “But what of everything that goes with it? Don’t you owe an allegiance to the Church?”

  “The Church has made drastic policy changes in the past—the recent past in particular. Just because it isn’t likely to doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

  “But after what you just told me they’d excommunicate you.”

  Father Murray nodded. “I suppose they would.” He took a deep breath. “I need y
our help, Liam. To protect those who need protection. From the Order.”

  Flipping onto his back, Liam felt the ghost of his former pain. He scanned the walls and found himself staring at a framed photo. It was taken sometime around 1966 before the war began. His mother was smiling and holding baby Eileen. He saw himself at age nine with thick shaggy hair and a sullen expression smoldering on his face, turning from the camera to unsuccessfully hide a black eye. The three of them were standing in front of St. Brendan’s. It’d been Eileen’s baptism, and Patrick Kelly was nowhere in the picture—nowhere near the church, in fact. Liam remembered that day. It was the day he understood that no amount of trouble he caused, no amount of complaining, angry fits, pleading or attempts at reason would make a difference. His mother had married Patrick Kelly and whether or not Liam accepted him didn’t matter anymore. His half sister had destroyed everything. His mother belonged to Patrick Kelly, and he, Liam, had lost her forever. It was the first time he’d understood he was alone—really alone. It had taken him years to forgive Eileen, but in the end he’d done it. She couldn’t help being born any more than he could.

  Protect others from the Church’s assassins. It was a noble cause but then so was the Irish Republic. Liam looked at the battered and angry boy in the photo and felt sad.

  “Can I ask you something?” Father Murray asked.

  “Can’t stop you.” It was a whisper. The words barely squeezed past the pain in his throat.

  “Why are you wearing that crucifix?”

  Touching the silver at his neck, Liam considered his answer. Lies were easy. Lies would mean he wouldn’t have to know the truth himself, but he’d already thrown away one opportunity to tell the truth when it could’ve made a difference. He wasn’t sure he was ready to lose another. “Was a gift. From Ma. My First Communion. The St. Sebastian medal Mary Kate gave to me for my birthday.”

  “An odd choice. I thought the IRA went in for St. Joseph.”

  Liam blinked. He considered denying it but no longer saw the point. In any case, if Father Murray were going to turn him in he’d have done so already. Liam repeated the words he’d heard and read to himself hundreds of times over the years. “Whoever reads this prayer or hears it or carries it, will never die a sudden death, nor be drowned, nor will poison take effect on them. They will not fall into the hands of the enemy nor be burned in any fire, nor will they be defeated in battle.” He looked to Father Murray. “Maybe Mary Kate knew it’d be endurance I’d need, not protection.” Once again he thought about lying but decided not to. “Everything was gone. And… I needed something to hold on to.”

  “So, you turned back to the Church.”

  “I’ve not set foot inside a church since the day Mary Kate died.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “It isn’t much, but it’s the very last of myself that exists, Father. The last part of me that was before the fucking monster came. Everything else is gone.”

  Father Murray leaned over and cleaned out his pipe into the ash tray sitting on the floor next to the big green chair. He filled the pipe again and then lit it. Puffs of white smoke once again perfumed the air. He shook out the match and dropped it into the ash tray. Settling back into the chair, he closed his eyes.

  “Everything isn’t gone,” Father Murray said.

  “Mary Kate is gone. Everything we had together,” Liam said. “Everything I was. You don’t know. I let the fucking monster loose. I’m not—I’m not human anymore. You should have let me die.”

  “Human beings are known to make mistakes, Liam.”

  “Not like this.”

  Father Murray smoked in silence for a time. Liam struggled with his question until he couldn’t stand it anymore. “How many was it I killed?”

  “When?”

  “The car bomb. How many?”

  The room was quiet. Liam could make out the ticking of the mantle clock in the next room.

  “One,” Father Murray said. “A constable. A woman who lived across the street was injured. Some children witnessed the explosion, but weren’t otherwise harmed.”

  Liam let out the breath he’d been holding. “She saved them. Thank God.”

  “You can start again.”

  “And Father Dominic and Father Christopher? What of them?” Liam felt the top of his left ear and found a scar. It was tender to the touch. It can’t have healed already, he thought. Can it?

  “That… is more complicated,” Father Murray said. “They’re alive. Both of them. But neither will be in shape for duty for some time.” He stared down at his hands, thinking. Then he took a long breath. “You’re not a monster. There was no choice. You had to defend yourself. If I can see that, surely you can?”

  “I don’t deserve a new start.”

  “Deserving has nothing to do with it. I’m not talking about a holiday. What I’m suggesting, it won’t be easy. It’ll be very dangerous. And you’re not likely to get anything in return except more danger. We won’t be thanked. Ever.”

  “I’ll think about it, Father.”

  Nodding, Father Murray sighed. “I should call your mother.”

  “I don’t want to see her.”

  “Don’t you think she’ll be glad you’re home?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Why?”

  “She lied to me. My whole fucking life!”

  “Shhh. Calm down, Liam.”

  “Kept my father from me too!”

  “She was only protecting you.”

  Liam filled his lungs as much as he could stand and gave the last all his rage. “Protecting herself, you mean! She told me so!” Something—his skin?—tore underneath the bandages and the pain intensified. Liquid oozed across his back. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gritted his teeth. He felt more than saw Father Murray get up from the chair and gently touch his arm.

  “Stop this. You’re only hurting yourself,” Father Murray said.

  Taking small breaths, Liam waited for the pain to fade back into a dull throb.

  “You have every right to be angry,” Father Murray said, checking the bandages and then sitting down again. “You do. But please. Try to understand something of what your mother went through.”

  Afraid to speak, Liam grunted in disbelief.

  “There was a reason she didn’t marry right away. Did she never tell you?”

  Liam risked shaking his head no. He’d always assumed it was because no one had wanted her.

  “She waited for your father.” Father Murray blew out another smoke cloud. “There is much that passes between adults that children don’t see or understand—can’t see or understand.”

  The room blurred, and Liam shifted in an attempt to make his back stop hurting. Father Murray put down his pipe and left the room. When he returned, he held out a glass of water and two pills. “There’s no need for you to suffer.”

  Liam accepted the pills and the water. Then he wiped his eyes clear with his sleeve. Movement wasn’t easy. He had to be cautious. Father Murray settled into the overstuffed chair and retrieved his pipe.

  “Tell me something,” Father Murray asked. “About the bomb. Why would you want to kill a constable?”

  “Don’t want to talk about it, Father.”

  Father Murray nodded and then allowed the conversation to die.

  Liam took a careful breath. “Do you—do you remember what you said when you caught me giving Andy Burns a hiding?”

  Father Murray shook his head.

  “You said I hadn’t the right,” Liam said. “I told you Andy deserved it. He called my mother a whore. Called me a filthy taig, and said all taigs should die. So, I gave him a kicking. You said, ‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.’ I remember that.” The drugs had started to take effect. He knew it because the throbbing in his back had eased, and he felt slow-witted. He supposed it was the painkillers talking more than anything else, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Hated you at the time, but it stuck. I’ve been thinking about those words. After what happened. Aft
er the bomb. And I decided. You were right all along. It didn’t matter if you’d only said it because you thought I was a demon to be steered away from doing wrong. Revenge is no business for anyone.”

  Liam listened to the beat of his heart and willed it to slow while Father Murray said nothing at all.

  “‘The light that shines the brightest also casts the longest shadow.’” Father Murray’s voice was quiet. “When you think about it, it makes a certain

  amount of sense.”

  “Tell me what to do. I don’t know anything anymore.”

  “When I joined the Order,” Father Murray said. “I saw myself as a protector of the weak. We killed so that humanity might live. A terrible thing, but sometimes it’s required. We’ve both seen it, you and I. The thing is, once you’ve accepted that role there are certain lines you cannot cross no matter what happens. The Church forgot that. And I did too.”

  “What lines, Father?”

  “Hate. Revenge. Self-righteousness. No self-proclaimed guardian can afford them. Unfortunately, each one is a very human emotion. You can’t live the life of a soldier or constable and not feel those things. To not feel them is impossible. But to act upon them is to assume the role of executioner. Assassin. That way is the path to atrocity, and atrocity is the end of everything.”

  “I wish there were someone else to do this. Someone better. Anyone.”

  “And I can’t help feeling the same,” Father Murray said. “But because of the terrible mistakes we’ve made, you and I, neither of us is likely to forget about the line between guardian and executioner ever at all. And I think that’s required if we’re to do what needs done.”

  The drugs were making Liam’s eyelids too heavy to lift. He didn’t want to think anymore.

  “Get some sleep,” Father Murray said. “We can discuss this later.”

  Chapter 25

  Londonderry/Derry, County Londonderry, Northern Ireland

  September 1977

  It was nine in the morning when Kathleen Kelly started in on the pan she’d left to soak from the night before. The soapy water was warm on her hands in the chilly flat. A distorted patch of light glowed yellow on the grey-speckled linoleum. Moira’s tinny transistor radio was playing Paul McCartney and Wings, and Kathleen watched disrupted dust particles waltz to “Mull of Kintyre” in the sunbeam. 1-2-3. 2-2-3. 3-2-3. She let herself sing along and sway to the strumming guitar. 1-2-3. 2-2-3. 3-2-3. The children were in school, and Patrick was at work. The flat was her own. The children didn’t know she listened to their music during the day. Nor did Patrick. It was her little secret, her little indulgence. Rock music reminded her of the days when she would sneak out with her sister Sheila to hear Elvis Presley played on the radio—the days when she first met Bran, who would later change her life.