Valknut

CHAPTER|14 An Unlucky End

A miracle comes at a cost. A heavy cost indeed. A burden that leaves you tossing sleeplessly night after night – or worse till there is nothing left but an empty shell. The knowledge that you gave up something that was not yours to give, in return for that which you so badly wanted, eating away at you day and night till there was only rotting flesh and bone left. The weight of the realization that many, many lives hung on your decision. Yet you chose the one life that paled in comparison to the number of lives that would be sacrificed for your ‘want’. Your happiness for someone else’s? Your family’s freedom at the cost of scores of other families? 

For Frank O'Sullivan, the decision came easily. For over a decade his father had hoped and prayed for salvation. For freedom from the task he had been asked to carry out. When he had been selected, he had been proud. Over time, hunger, pain, and sorrow chiseled away at his pride and left him with nothing by an endless feeling of helplessness. 

Fourteen years ago, before the Great War that destroyed his home, O'Sullivan had been selected by Sir Connor to flee straight into McDermott territory. His story had resonated with those so many before him. A cruel laird to escape from. A new home to build. A wife and child to protect. The animosity between the MacShane’s and the McDermott’s milked to its fullest.

He had been welcomed at McDermott’s. Given a piece of land with a hutment to call his own. When war was declared, his missive to Sir Connor had reached just in the nick of time. He had done that which was asked of him. Alas his home had been burnt to the ground. The MacShane’s had been done away with. He had nowhere else to go. He continued to toil the land of the enemy and line McDermott pockets with the taxes he had paid.

When they came for his only daughter, he was resigned, just like he always was. A spark grew though. A rebellious one at that. One that threatened his honor. Too late. Was there such a thing as honor left for the O'Sullivan’s? At the hands of the McDermott’s, there could be no such thing. 

So when the riders of the Dark Knight bore upon the O'Sullivan hutment, the youngest boy, Frank, made a decision. One that brought him no regrets. No shame. No sorrow. No sleepless nights. A glimmer of hope took its place instead. 

He stood before Fergus now. Prepared to divulge MacShane secrets in exchange for protection, food, and safe travel from McDermott lands… anywhere but here! Indemnity for his family, forever. No more hunger, no more poverty, no more threats of being piked for seeking a better future. And Fergus, was all too willing. For now...

Frank spoke of it all. How his father had come to McDermott lands as a MacShane spy. Of the missives exchanged with Sir Connor. The secrets that were supplied shamelessly to the MacShane’s. As the story unfolded, Fergus’ eyes only grew darker. He sat expressionless. But his mind churned at the speed of light. Oh how he waited to watch her beautiful eyes as he strangled the life from Lady MacShane’s body. Even then he would not be done with her. He would drag her soul to the pits of hell for what she had done to his family.

The story stopped at the MacShane refuge at Orkney. The boy knew no more as the missives had ended. Knowing where the MacShane’s were hiding was all that Fergus needed to hear. His own scouts would seek out the rest. And the boy and his family would find no redemption in  this life. For a spy could simply not be trusted.

He watched with a sickening grin as the boy was dragged screaming to the dungeons of his crumbling keep where the iron maiden awaited him. For the rest of the O’Sullivan’s, a public beheading and the pikes would suffice. But first, they would endure hell at the hands of the Dark Knight. 

Shortly after, scouts were dispatched and within two weeks, they had returned reporting the state of affairs at Orkney. The Shaw's were all but forgotten. Vengeance is all that Fergus sought. Fergus learned of everything. From Lady MacShane’s marriage to the Chieftain, of Kieran’s inheritance of Rognvaldsey and even more delightfully, of the two week festivities and the inevitable arrival of Kieran to McDermott shores. Dressed as a barbarian no less. Oh how he roared with laughter.  

It was now time for the Dark Knight to grin. War was his time to shine. His hands would slit hundreds of throats. His sword would pierce through the hearts of his enemies. His boots would bathe in their blood. The sky would be painted orange forever with the fires he would rain down upon their settlement and ships.

The one thought that gave him the most pleasure, was the torture he would inflict upon Sir Connor for the opportunity he had taken away from him so many years ago. Slowly, but surely, a darker evil stirred within his being. And there was only one way to satiate that being – the deepest darkest corners of the torture chamber would be washed with O’Sullivan blood. 

**I know, I know, it’s a little on the grisly side. Don’t forget to vote though.