--And On That Day, You Will Reap It--
--And On That Day, You Will Reap It--
--To all those who've read this story faithfully, I humbly thank you. All my love, Aoife--
He knelt before them trembling. Blood oozed from his nose and split lip, causing a metallic taste on his tongue. He'd seen these men on the news. The anchor woman had said they were crazy--that they got off on killing bad people. He wasn't a bad person, was he? Okay, so he'd done some things his mother would be ashamed of him for, but it wasn't like he'd ever killed anyone . . . at least, he hadn't been the one holding the knife . . . that didn't count as killing someone . . . right?
The two younger ones held cold steel to the back of his head. The silencers attached to the ends ensured that no one more than fifty feet away would hear the shots. And there was no one around for miles. The old man in front of him was saying something cryptic--something about waving a flashing sword. What the hell was going on?
Like a screwdriver to his liver, a memory suddenly resurfaced as a young blond girl stepped out from the shadows. The old man stepped aside so that she was now standing right in front of him. As he looked up at her, his heart filled with more fear than he'd ever felt in his entire life. Slowly and deliberately, she ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it back into a pony tail and securing it with an elastic band. And there it was, staring him in the face. The uneven line that ran down the right side of her face served as the testament of his evil. There was no arguing his way out of this one. Blue flames seared her eyes as she held his gaze. He tried to spit out something, but his quaking lips and the blood in his mouth prevented it from being discernible.
The old man reached into his jacket and pulled out a third gun, smooth and unforgiving. He held it out to the girl, and she accepted it with her left hand, allowing her index finger to rest gently on the trigger. The word tattooed there made no sense to him, but to someone who could read Latin it might have seemed like a cruel joke. Spes--Hope. This man no longer had any. With a slight raise of her chin, she left his line of sight, and he soon felt a third spot of pressure on the back of his skull.
"Shepherds we shall be fer Thee, m' Lord, fer Thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand, that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command. And we shall flow a river forth to Thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nomine Patri, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."
When the man lay in a heap at their feet, Líadan handed the gun back to her father. She was finished.
They stood at the bus stop with her. She would catch it into the city, and then make her way to the airport. Líadan was going home for good this time. She knew that she would definitely see her brothers again in her dreams. Just as they had been called to punish the wicked, she had been called to watch over them. As for seeing them in person, she didn't know--only God knew that. The umbrella-shaped overhang protected her from the rain, but not from the tears. She knew it was for the best; she would only slow them down, put them in more danger of being caught. It was not her place to join them in anything but spirit. Her hair was tied back away from her face; she was no longer afraid. The small backpack she carried contained a couple of granola bars, a bottle of water, two plain black t-shirts--one of which had once belonged to Murphy for her to sleep in, her canvas sneakers, and a wallet with a little money and all of her identification.
Tires splashed water onto her feet, but her black boots were impervious to the attempt at making her any more uncomfortable than she already was. The door creaked open, bidding her to join the other passengers. Líadan turned to her father, who cupped her face in his hands and uttered, "Is é do mhac do mhac go bpósann sé ach is í d'iníon go bhfaighidh tú bás." She smiled weakly up at him, and he kissed her forehead. He released her to move on to Murphy, who immediately pulled her into a fierce embrace.
"I meant what I said before. No matter what, I'll always be with ya." He kissed the top of her head four times, and then let her go.
As she turned to Conner, she reached up to the back of her neck. With shaking hands, she somehow managed to undo the clasp that her fingers found there. She re-fastened the chain so that the charm it held wouldn't escape and gathered it in her palm. Then she held it out to him. There was no symbolic, movie-like pressing it into his hand; she simply dropped it into his waiting grasp. He closed his fist around it and usurped her into his arms. For a moment, she thought she might melt into him, he held her so tight. The driver of the bus honked his horn, irritated at the wait, so Conner relented. Murphy caught her hand one more time, and kissed her scar before the bus swallowed her.
It was fairly crowded, so Líadan had to take a seat along the aisle, pulling her bag off her shoulder and onto her lap. As the brakes released, she craned her neck to see out the window, trying to catch one last glimpse of her whole world setting sail for a land she could never know. The three men became a dark blur through the rain-spattered glass, so she turned back around and reclaimed her seat. She closed her eyes, freely allowing the salty rivers to course down her face.
Conner opened his hand, and his fingers found the clasp of the thin silver chain. He latched it around his neck, and the fingers of his left hand closed around the silver band hanging at the chain's end. Bridget's Claddagh had been a reminder to Líadan of the loss she had suffered, but to Conner, it was a reminder of why they were continuing their mission. He briefly looked at his brother and his father, who exchanged glances with him. Then with their eyes forward, the three Saints stepped off into the rain, unsure of where their feet would take them.
Translations:
Is é do mhac do mhac go bpósann sé ach is í d'iníon go bhfaighidh tú bás--Irish, proverb, "Your son is your son until he marries, but your daughter is your daughter until you die."