Daygo's Fury (25 page)

“There they are,” said Erinin. Deaglan looked up as Darren, Ultan, Racquel and Bradan came around the corner. He watched as Racquel and Bradan went inside the flat. Darren and Ultan broke off in their direction. Darren nodded to them as he walked past.

“Where’s Liam?” Deaglan asked Ultan as he joined them.

“He’s gone, he has that thing with Carrick.”

A smile played across Deaglan’s face. “When’s he going to be back?”

“Heard him say wouldn’t be till tonight.”

Deaglan’s eyes slipped from Ultan to the flat behind him and his smile widened. He noticed Ultan fidget nervously beside him.

******

As he approached the tavern, Liam looked across at the warehouse at the end of the street. Not for the first time, he wondered what was stored there. He knew it was owned by the gang.

A smoky haze enveloped the familiar din of the tavern as he entered. It was busy for noon with three of the encircling tables filled along with half the bar. Liam’s stomach rumbled at the smell of stew. It seemed a long time since he had tasted anything as nice as Sally’s Stew.

Carrick sat on a stool at one of the tables, across from two burly men Liam didn’t recognise. He could see by Carrick’s awkward posture that they held influence over him. Liam picked up a stool and casually strolled over to them. He set the stool down beside them and sat.

“Alright, Carrick,” he greeted him, smiling inwardly, knowing that it would embarrass Carrick for Liam to be so at ease around him.

One of the men frowned at Liam. “Who the fuck are you?”

Liam smiled back at him.

“The fuck ye doin’ over here, Liam? Go … wait over at that table over there!” Carrick waved a hand vaguely at the other end of the tavern. Liam took his time getting up. The man nearest him threw a backhanded fist at him, but he saw it coming and stepped lightly away, knocking his stool down as he did so.

“Little shit!” the man said. Liam stared him down until his brows furrowed angrily, then he turned his back and walked slowly away. He felt like antagonising people. He sat down at his table and waited, idly wondering if he could convince Carrick to buy him some stew.

A while later, Carrick shook hands with the men, seeming to be more enthusiastic than they were, and walked over to the bar. He bought a fresh mug of ale before finding Liam and sitting at his table.

“What the fuck ye comin’ over to me like that for?”

“What’s the job?” Liam cut him short, not willing to waste time with his bullshit. Carrick stared maliciously over his ale.

“Startin’ to fuckin’ wonder about you, Liam!”

Liam laughed. “Really?”

“You’d wanna get some fuckin’ manners!”

Liam didn’t respond, instead waiting for Carrick to get to the point. After a time, he got to business.

“You know that carpenter? The one that fucked me over on the smith’s job?” Liam looked up at Carrick, his eyes widening. “Been thinkin’ ’bout it, it’s ’bout time we got that fuck back now as well, like we got the smith. He needs to learn too. Needs to be quiet, though. Won’t steal nothin’ from him, so has nothin’ to do with matis, or the flags; just an altercation in the street. Won’t be expectin’ shit.”

Liam could hardly believe his ears. His heart started to pound. He could feel his face going red. He stared down at the table, boring holes into it. He shook his head slightly as Carrick continued.

“Been getting’ a lad to watch ’im, we know he’ll be getting’ supplies later on today, we can hit ’im then, when he’s away from his store. No one’ll know the difference.”

Liam’s fingers itched for the hilt of his knife.

“Was thinkin’ you’d like to get in on it, with Calum and all, get this fucker too. Teach ’im some respect. They’ll know fuckin’ better the next time!”

There was a force building inside of him, filling him up, growing with every word out of Carrick’s mouth. His mind screamed at him to jump across the table and bury the knife in Carrick’s throat. He was too pent up to speak, he couldn’t move. It took all his will to stay still, his head cocked and rigid, his eyes on the table top but seeing nothing.

“You’ll do the same as on the smith’s job, go in there and fish ’im out, then …”

His head seemed to be floating as he listened to Carrick prattle on. Eventually, it came to a stop. There was a moment of silence.

“You must be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” he said quietly.

Carrick looked at him, a puzzled expression on his face. “What?” he asked, his voice rough.

“You must be fuckin’ kidding me?” Liam repeated, his gaze coming up from the table to bore holes into Carrick’s.

Carrick looked away angrily. “What the fuck you talkin’ about?”

“After Calum, after …”

“What the fuck ye lookin’ at, eh? Go look somewhere else!”

“I’ll rip your fuckin’ throat out,” Liam whispered.

Carrick looked back at him sharply. “What the fuck’s your problem, eh? You don’t want the job, then fuck off!”

Liam’s stare didn’t drop. Carrick began to fidget, awkward and angry. Liam forced himself up. He stood, turned and walked for the door.

“I don’t want to see your fuckin’ face round here again!” Carrick shouted after him as he walked outside.

He was almost numb with disbelief and rage and terrible regret.
What the fuck had they ever been doing with that idiot! Calum was dead because of that fucking idiot.
It was as though his eyes had finally been fully opened. He shook his head as he walked away from the tavern and headed for home, his fists clenched tightly.

******

Racquel screamed but she knew there was no one coming. Not this time. Still she screamed, unable to contain her terror and revulsion.
Not again, not again. Why? Why were they doing this?
She struggled, bit, scratched, kicked, knowing it was only delaying the inevitable, knowing that it would probably only make it worse. A fist collided with her jaw, causing her mind to fog. She struggled a little less. She could hear the eagerness and excitement in their voices as they pulled at her, tearing her clothes.

******

It started to rain on his walk back. His hair was flat against his forehead; rainwater ran down his face, dripping from his nose and chin onto the wooden steps as he climbed up to the flat. He left the water run its own course, undisturbed, too melancholic to wipe at it. He was only vaguely aware of Bradan in the corner of the room.
Racquel must be at the well.
He sat heavily on top of his bedclothes, not caring that they would get wet.

He didn’t know what he was doing, or what he had planned. Nothing. He was unsure. What was he doing?

He was uncomfortable with the new truths that had come to him. He had been looking for another way, a new way. A way they could survive and thrive out in the slums. He had known that there was a way, that other people had done it before him, but he hadn’t known how. He had wondered what it was that gave them the edge. Now he knew. He could see it clearly, for the first time, truly clearly, without restriction. It was obvious, as clear as his knees before him. But … to do it. To become who he needed to be. What about his soul? Where would he end up in Daygo’s stream? Would he live in torment for eternity?

But they were doomed. He knew it. It was just as clear. If he didn’t change their course, if he didn’t change his way, they had no chance. Their lives would be short, like all those who had come before him, like all those others, like Cid and Calum. Short and tormented. Full of suffering and woe. They couldn’t continue the way they were, he couldn’t support himself and Racquel both. He could barely support himself alone, without Calum and without the gang, with no future there …

Racquel … she knew nothing about real slum living. She had been sheltered within the bakery. He couldn’t support them both. She would never survive. She would … she
would
. She would survive. But it would be worse. Better to die, not to … live like that.

There was only one way. There was only one choice. Accept it, embrace it or die. Survival or give up and die now. That was his only option, the only choice before him. He knew now that there was no point in fooling himself any longer, in foolish hope that there was some middle ground, some easy and happy way. It was either embrace it now in totality or turn from it, give in, like the homeless bums littering the streets of the slums. Like those he had always before hated. Those who disgusted him, who had given up the fight.

Only now, truly, he was unsure. For the first time he saw a reason for who they were, for what they were. At least … at least they … He didn’t know, he didn’t know which choice was better. Both seemed equally terrifying to him. But he had to choose! There was no middle ground. He had to choose now!

Where was she? He looked up from his knees, realising that he was shivering.
How come I never get sick?
he wondered; all of the other boys do. He looked across at Bradan. There was something strange about his demeanour. He seemed nervous. Liam hadn’t noticed, had thought it was just Cid, but it wasn’t, it was something else. He looked around the room. His heartbeat quickened. A sudden spike of fear shot through him. Bradan gave a slight flinch as Liam’s gaze fell on him once more. He stood up.
Why would she be out in the rain?

“Where’s Racquel?”

Bradan fidgeted, ignoring him.

He wouldn’t …

“Bradan! Where is she?”

“I … I dono,” he answered.

“Yes, you fuckin’ do!” said Liam, striding over to him. He grabbed the front of his tunic and pulled him up, slamming him back against the wall. “And you better tell me right fuckin’ now.”

Bradan looked up helplessly.

“She went with Deaglan,” he moaned.

“Where?”

“I … I dono … the … the alley, that spot …” Liam left him go, knowing where they had gone, a million spikes pricking into the skin surrounding his body.
No!

His body moved, racing down the stairs and out into the rain, his mind a separate, floating thing being dragged behind it. The rain had quietened to a bare drizzle. The street was empty except for a crippled dog lying yards away, whining softly. Somehow it pulled at him, drawing panic and fear forth. His eyes were reluctant to leave it as his feet dragged him past, careless of their step, water, mud and shit squishing underneath.

The alleyway wasn’t far away. It was a dead end, a side alley to another alleyway, hidden from the road. The walls of the opposing buildings were close together, two storeys high and lacking windows. One side leaned inwards oppressively. A roof had collapsed outwards, creating a canopy of sorts over the end of the alleyway where the wooden timbers had slid across to catch against the opposite wall. The overall result was gloomy, dark and oppressive. It was known as a place of privacy.

His mind was closed, a desperate bubble throbbing with fear as he ran. It wasn’t far. He turned up the preceding alleyway. Racquel’s cries rang painfully in his ears, shocking his system. The cold hilt of his knife found its way into his right palm, gripped fiercely. He ran past a homeless man, sitting at the side wall, rainwater flowing all around him, soaking wet. His withered face didn’t move but his eyes trailed Liam, dead, feeling nothing, without hope.

He didn’t slow as he turned the corner. Racquel was at the end of the alleyway, underneath the wooden slats. She was upright and held tightly against the left wall. Ultan was a couple of steps back from her, looking uncomfortable. He was the first to see Liam, his eyes widening and a gasp of alarm escaping his lips. The air seemed to crackle around Liam. He could feel it, laden with moisture, heavy.

Her cries reverberated through him, her terror seeming to amplify his senses and send him into blind action. His eyes widened, ears opened, nostrils flared.

Deaglan’s left hand came away from her bare chest, his right still held hers pinned against the wall. She shrieked and tried to kick at him, Erinin’s right hand slammed into her throat, hitting her head against the wall and choking her. The front of her dress was torn, the skirt had been raised high. She was straddled between the two boys. Deaglan’s features twisted in surprise as he raised his head. He stepped backwards, releasing Raquel’s arm. Liam slammed into Erinin as he half turned, his knife sliding through his side. He pulled it out, readying for another blow.
Erinin, my brother.
A gasp of pain escaped his lips. A shiver of uncertainty passed through Liam’s arm as he struck again, making the blow awkward. The blade hit bone and snapped, his wrist twisted, momentum pushing the hilt in his hand against Erinin’s side, sliding slightly on the blood. He dropped the hilt with shaking fingers.
Erinin, all my life I have known you, lived with you, disliked you.

He cried out, sliding to his knees, his side growing damp with blood. Racquel pulled her arm free, Deaglan stepped backwards and swiftly took out his knife. Liam’s gaze had followed Erinin, he tore it away, forcing himself to back up a few steps. Ultan’s eyes were wide, shocked.

“Run,” Liam whispered, barely audible above Erinin’s moans. Racquel stumbled away a few steps, trying to straighten out her dress.

He saw the glint of decision in Deaglan’s eyes. Horror almost prevented Liam’s reaction. He jumped forward with Deaglan’s knife hand, intercepting it. Grasping the wrist, he turned it from its course, away from Racquel’s exposed back.