Liath Luachra - The Grey One by Brian O'Sullivan

Author:Brian O'Sullivan [O'Sullivan, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Historical Fiction
Publisher: Irish Imbas Books
Published: 2015-12-04T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

The first trickle of awareness was accompanied by a persistent, deep-rooted ache. For what seemed like an interminable period of time, she drifted in and out of the sensation. Too indistinct to truly hurt, it simply clung about her, an unpleasant background haze.

As she became more lucid, the pain surged in with force, burning an angry streak through her left side. Like an insanely tenacious rodent, this new pain chewed incessantly at her edges, bit and chewed until it nudged her back to full consciousness.

Opening her eyes, she saw nothing but darkness. Striving to make up for the lack of sight, her other senses rushed in but their intrusion proved unwelcome. Physically, she was in a bad way. This much she could tell even through the fog of confusion. Her ribs were aching, her lips were swollen and cracked. Her back was sore, her cheeks bruised. Her left eye was swollen and puffy, much more than the right although she couldn’t see out of either. Her mouth and throat were parched, her skin tender from after-fever. In her stomach, when the pain didn’t obscure it, hunger competed with nausea.

That shrill pain in her side obliterated the throb in her skull. It felt as though someone had pressed hot metal against her, pressed so hard it’d passed through the skin and lodged deep inside her rib-cage. As the pain swelled to excruciating levels, she felt her initial coherence begin to falter and wither.

‘Welcome.’

The shock of hearing that voice pulled her thoughts back together again. Pain momentarily forgotten, she listened carefully but no other words came. She frowned, wondering if she’d imagined it. It had sounded female, unfamiliar but calm.

Her throat caught as she tried to speak. Her lips, sticky, wouldn’t part at first and it took several attempts before she managed to get the words out. ‘An bhfuilim marbh?’ Am I dead?

Her voice sounded pathetically weak, like the reedy gasps of a feeble old woman. She waited for a moment but there was no response.

‘An bhfuilim marbh?’ she tried again. ‘Are these … the Dark Lands?’

‘Do you feel dead?’

She took a moment before responding and when she did she did so with care for she had to concentrate on articulating each individual word. ‘No. I. Feel. Pain.’

‘Talk to me of pain when you’ve eased a child from between those hips.’

It was hard to make sense of that particular response but, in truth, it didn’t matter. The conversation had already used up what little energy she had and Liath Luachra could feel her reason slipping away.

‘I… Do I…?’

‘Whist.’

Darkness.

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