“Bran! Sean! Run!”
Startled, the donkey brayed and reared before galloping off into the woods. Bran hesitated, sending him a guilty look before following Sean.
Fearghus sent four of the men to round the animals up, thinking they’d only been spooked. They’d have no way of knowing the beasts had understood what Fingin said. He hoped they both escaped. Bran had shown no wounds, but he could have been bruised or broken by the kicks.
His own punishment came swift and painful. A dozen hard kicks to his ribs made something crack inside. Every part of him ached, sharp kicks into his midriff making light flash into his mind.
With a moment’s consideration, Cailte took aim at his cheek, kicking him so hard his neck snapped back, and he saw a flashing light. Three more blows, and the darkness enfolded him.
Chapter Six
He floated in clouds made of obsidian shards. Every twitch brought intense pain, but he had to move to avoid the spikes which swam around him. Something cold and wet fell on his face. He tried to push it away, but it returned, howling and grunting.
Time meant nothing. His body had become detached, but it still sent notes of agony to his mind. How would he escape the throbbing? The anguish? Tears wouldn’t come.
The wet returned. He touched the source. Something hairy? Warm. The warmth moaned and whined.
“Fingin? Fingin, open your eyes. We’re back. The bad men are gone. They didn’t find us. Wake up.”
Fingin tried, but they remained shut. He gingerly touched his face, finding nothing but a mass of tender skin. No wonder his eyes wouldn’t open. The blows Cailte had rained upon his face had blackened both eyes. They’d swollen shut.
“Water. I need water.”
He didn’t know how either beast would get him water. The warriors probably stole all his belongings. But he felt something bump his hand. He grasped it and discovered his own waterskin. It must have been on Sean’s pannikins.
Fingin sipped with caution, through cracked and bloody lips. After swishing the water a few times with ginger motions, he spat out the copper-tasting blood. Clenching his jaw, his teeth seemed sound but achy. It would take a long time for his face and ribs to heal.
Heal. He remembered Brigit’s charm and pulled it out of his shirt. He sent thanks the warriors hadn’t found and stolen it. He clutched it close to his heart, not knowing how it worked. With a vague memory of his parents’ actions at their religious house, he passed it over his eyes and his ribs, grunting with pain when he moved his arm.
Nothing happened, but the goddess had warned him the healing would be slow. No matter. He would mend. For now, though, they needed to move. The warriors might return to finish their work.
“Bran, are you hurt?”
The hound woofed once. “My side hurts, but not too bad. My former friend hurt me worse.”
With a silent curse for the former “friend,” Fingin asked, “Sean, did they hurt you at all? Do you still have the packs?”
“I’m too fast for them. The packs aren’t heavy.”
He chuckled and then groaned because his ribs shifted again. “Oh, please don’t make me laugh. But well done, both of you. Now, I need to get up. I can’t see, and it hurts to move. Bran, can you stand next to me as I get on my feet? Sean, I may need to pull on your bridle.”
The animals moved within reach. With much grunting and grumbling, he pulled himself to his knees and then to his feet. He almost passed out from the pain, but gritted his teeth and persevered.
“In the pannikin, I have some cloth. I need to wrap it around my middle. I think it’s on the left side. Can you move so I can get to it?”
Sean shuffled around as Fingin stood still, almost stumbling when the solid strength of the donkey shifted. He felt the pannikin and snaked his hand into the pack. He found one of the léinte and hoped it would reach all the way around him.
“I wish I had some rope. But Sean’s bridle will have to do. You don’t need it anyhow, right? You’re not planning on running off?”
“I’ll stay with you. You feed me.”
He winced. “I said, stop making me laugh.”
Bran woofed, and Sean scraped his hoof a few times on the dirt.
He wrapped the fabric around his ribs, and after several tries, tied the bridle around that. It helped to keep him from bending too much.
“How late in the day is it? Is the sun setting?”
Bran answered, “The dark is coming.”
“We need to walk toward the sunset. Can you lead us, Bran? I have to walk next to Sean with my hand on his flank, so pay attention to where I’m walking. We can rest after a league, I think.”
Bran yipped a few times. Leaves rustled as he ran here and there. “I can’t see the sun. The clouds are in the way.”
“Do you remember which direction we came from?”
Another bark. “I can smell it.”
“Then we should head in the opposite direction, continuing our journey. Oh, wait! The Fianna might have gone that way. Can you smell where they went?”
Snuffling the ground for a few moments, Bran barked. “Yes!”
“We don’t want to go the same way. We can turn back west when we are well away from here. Let’s head south. Bran, stand in front of me the direction we came from.” The
