In Death

In Death - Part 1

The first time Iasan jumped from the roof he broke his ankle. He was only a boy and his screams of agony had woken his grandfather and half the house. Despite the pain and biting cold, he had stayed lucid enough to steal snippets of memory, all of which stayed with him still. He remembered the smell of tobacco from Daideo's cloak as the old man had cradled him close. The pain had torn through him, dulling and distorting his vision to tiny pin pricks of light. Yet he remembered the glow of the moon peeping through the torn fabric of the night sky. He had felt the warmth wash over him as they passed across the threshold, the Sealgaire wolf drawing his gaze as it always had. Carved by a kinsman so many, many years before - he had given up counting the 'greats' - but he had never felt pride in having it's name. It scared him, as if the great wolf knew he had never belonged.

The assessment of his mangled ankle was peppered with his grandfather's dim view of Iasan's common sense. In between insults the old man barked orders at any servant in his line of sight. None took umbrage for it was, and always had been, his way. Bluster and boom, his voice would carry through the house on even his quietest days. "For someone with such a quick mouth, sure you can be dumber than mud. Did you think frozen sod would break your fall? I would likely wager you were dropped on your head as a baby, if I wasn't the one who reared ya." The old goat was perceptive as well, he knew Iasan hadn't been completely truthful about why he was out there that night. But Daideo also knew when to pick his moments, and this was not one of them. "Did you forget we had a flamin' front door? Mrs Halligan, you didn't happen to move the front door while you were cleaning today did you? The boy probably thought he had no other option than to use his window. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!" Mrs Halligan knew better than to laugh in front of Daideo, her face was impassive as she mumbled her response. These days he often caught Daideo bellowing at servants, even though they had long since left. He often wondered if Daideo was filling the now silent pockets of the once great home, to mask the absences that had made it so.

He remembered feeling sorry for himself as he lay in bed, tangled in covers that were better than any restraints. He had thought nothing could be worse than the agony he was enduring. It would have made quite the tale to tell, with just the right embellishments. The Healer, Muldune, was fetched by Fiachra who had been none too pleased at riding a horse in the dark of night in the wintery conditions. Iasan had sworn Muldune to secrecy about the truth of his adventure, assuming a man of medicine would disapprove of a Werebeast or two being added to the story. When he woke the next morning, despite the intense pain, he reckoned he could spin this very much to his advantage.

That all crumbled to dust in the days that followed, when the news of Nedhean's fate came to light. Any torment Iasan had endured was nothing compared to his friend's demise. Like every day since Iasan wished he had gone out the front door that night instead of the window. He may have met the same end, but at least Nedhean wouldn't have been alone in his last moments. Poor little Ned deserved better. He had been touched by the darkness before it swallowed him whole.

A rustling behind him wrenched him back to the present. A single crow had landed on the roof indifferent to Iasan's presence. The bird's plumage seemed to swallow the light around it, a shadow save for the reflection in his eyes, staring through Iasan and irate at his trespass. Some believe crows are a symbol of death or change, or even a new beginning. Iasan hoped for all of them as he took tight grip of the precious parcel. He knew only one of the three fates awaited him. He leaped to the soft grass below and rolled as he landed. Years of practice, coupled with the common sense to use the front door in winter, had made him an expert. His eyes darted to the house, searching for any sign of change but it remained nestled in its slumber.

Daideo slept heavier these days, his age slowing everything but time itself. His mind still danced and weaved, besting his grandson on the topic of that day more often than not. Even if sometimes, Iasan let him win. Daideo trusted little in the medicines of today, preferring the old ways and their superstitions. He wasn't naive enough to forego his Healer's advice but he would be damned if they got any credit! Healer's were no more than butchers in Daideo's day and not enough progress had been made to make him think otherwise. He had made Iasan promise to burn his body in a 'rare auld fire' when he passed on. He wanted none of those tinkerers to dig him up for their warped practices.