Son of No One (5 page)

Rubbing his stomach, he stared at her in disbelief. No one had ever treated him so lightly before. “You're not dead, Jo. You're in Glastonbury Tor.”

“Like the abbey?”

“In short, aye. This is Terre Derrière le Voile—a realm where things are sent to be forgotten.”

“Yeah, but no one sent me here. I fell into it.”

He scratched at his cheek as he considered her words. “Then you must have stumbled through a hidden access. It doesn't normally happen that way, but I've seen much stranger things than that occur here.”

“Does that mean I can get back home?” she asked hopefully.

For reasons he didn't want to fathom, the thought of her leaving hurt him deep inside. “Aye, lass. Providing we find your point of entry.”

“Oh, that's easy. Go left at the darkness and keep walking until you go blind with it.” She held her hand up when he started to speak. “I was being sarcastic.” She frowned at him. “Did you fall in here, too?”

Cadegan wished. “Nay, lass. I was put here, quite intentionally.”

Jo paused as she considered what he was saying. That didn't make any sense to her. How was he here by design? “For what?”

“It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago.”

She raked a look over his monkish robe that could be ancient or modern. It was very similar to the ones Brother Anthony wore on Sundays for Mass. “How long exactly?”

He hesitated before he answered. “Since Edward the Confessor was king of England.”

Selena would groan at her stupidity if she were here. But history had never been much of an interest for Jo. “So that was what? Fifteenth century or so?”

“I know naught of that, lass. But it was the year of Our Lord 1045 when I was cast into this hell
.”

Jo's head reeled at what he was saying. Was he serious? “For real?”

“Aye.”

“Whoa … that's ancient.”

He arched a brow at her whispered tone. “How ancient?”

“Thousand years of ancient.”

Cadegan couldn't breathe as reality sank in and the blood washed from his face. He'd known from his glimpses through the glass that years had passed, and things had changed quite drastically. But this …

A
thousand
years.

A full millennia.

Bitter pain devoured his heart and choked him as he realized that Leucious had truly abandoned him. As stupid as it seemed now, a part of him had held out hope that his brother would forgive him and return to set him loose.

He hadn't.

Like everyone else, Leucious had turned his back on him and banished him from his thoughts like some dithering
cythral
sent to torment him.

You make me flesh skitter! Dor, how could anyone ever love a monster like you?
Cadegan ground his teeth as he sought to silence the blind hatred that had haunted him through the centuries. The hatred that had driven him to destroy everything he'd ever held dear.

Everything he'd ever known.

“Are you all right?”

Nay. But unwilling to let Jo know the truth, he nodded before he turned away and fought against the utter despair that shredded whatever was left of his wanged-out soul.

How could Leucious be so cold and unfeeling, after all the wounds Cadegan had taken for him?

After all the good Cadegan had done, it'd been a single act of entitled rage that had forever damned him.

By his own brother's hand.

How he wished Leucious were here. Just for one final heartbeat as he squeezed the life from him.

Jo watched in silence as the darkest sadness she'd ever beheld came over his features. She couldn't imagine what he'd been through.

It's not real, Jo.
He's
not real. This is just a dream.

What if it's not?

Yeah right, she sounded as crazy as the rest of her idiot family. Yet … this
felt
real. It sounded real and there was no way to deny how he'd tasted.

No dream had ever felt like this. Solid and complex. She could even smell the ashes in the hearth.

Reaching out, she brushed her hand against the coarse wool of his monkish robe. The rough fibers scraped her skin and she felt the texture of the chain mail he wore beneath it.

This
was
reality.

Somehow.

But one thing made her leery of fully accepting it. “If you've been here for a thousand years, how do you understand me?”

He snorted as a glimmer of amusement returned to his eyes. “I don't, most of the time. Much of what you say is half soaked. But as to why I know this version of English, I can hear your world while I rustle about near the borders. Not to mention, I was born with an innate ability to pick up languages rapt fast.”

“Really?”

He nodded as the hopeless sadness returned to his entire demeanor. “We need to be getting you on to yours, lass. Now, in a minute. But there's a fright bit of madness about. Best to wait till morning for it.”

“Wow. It's like trying to decipher Shakespeare or Chaucer.”

Tilting his head, he frowned at her. “Beg pardon?”

“You know? The famous writers?”

“You mean a scrivener?” He held his left hand up as if he was writing on something.

“Yeah. My bad. You totally predate them, don't you? And have no idea what I'm talking about. Jeez, what
don't
you predate?” Then she had another thought. Unlike her cousins, she wasn't a historian of any kind. Really didn't have much of a handle on any kind of historical timeline. “So were you a Crusader knight or something?”

“I'm not quite certain what you're asking me, lass.”

“Your clothes and armor. Were you a monk? Knight? Sword boy?”

“I was a knight.”

“To King Edward … no, wait, you hate the English. King of Wales? Not that I know the names of any, but king of Wales?”

He shook his head as he went to pull out a chair and cushion for her. Now that she looked about, she realized it was the only chair he had. “Would you care to sit a bit?”

“Where are you sitting?”

“Floor be good enough for the sorry likes of me.”

“Your … hobbit hole. I feel bad taking the only chair.”

Removing his sword and hanging it next to his cloak, Cadegan shrugged. “Suit yourself, then.” He moved to sit on the floor with his back to the wall. He stretched one insanely long leg out and bent the other.

Since he wasn't using it, Jo took the chair after all. “So what do you do for fun here?”

“I don't understand your question.”

“Fun. You know, that thing you enjoy doing?”

He frowned at her. “There is no fun here. Only survival.”

“Yeah, but when you're holed up, like now. What do you do to pass the time?”

“Ah. Play
tafl, cross,
and
disiau
.”

She loved listening to his speech and thick accent, but dang, it was giving her a migraine as she tried to make sense of it. “Really feel like we need a translator.”

He laughed before he pushed himself up and moved to the small table where an old box was set. He pulled out a smaller box and a worn leather pouch. Jo peeked over his shoulder to see what else the larger box contained. It had hand-carved pieces similar to chessmen. And now that she was paying attention, she realized the entire table was grooved and gridded like a board for chess or checkers, with a beautiful Celtic design over it.

Without comment, Cadegan opened the small box that had wooden pieces marked with Roman numerals. The pouch contained a set of wooden dice that he handed to her.

She fingered them, amazed at their quality and age. “How long have you had these?”

“Brother Eurig made them for me when I was a nibbler … a lad.”

“Brother Eurig? Was he a priest?”

“Monk.”

Gaping, she cradled the worn dice in her hand as she struggled with reality again. “These are almost a thousand years old?”

“Thirteen hundred, more like. I was born in the year of Our Lord a score and seven hundred.”

“720?”

He nodded.

“How old were you when he gave these to you?”

“Eight or so.”

No flippin' way. She stared at the dice in awe, until his age dawned on her. “Wait … that means you were put here when you were what? Three hundred years old?”

“Aye. Thereabouts.”

Trepidation filled her at that newest disclosure.
This can't be good.
People didn't live that long.

Not naturally.

She scowled at him. “Are you a vampire?”

“You've baffled me again, lass.”

“What
are
you?”

Cadegan stepped back at the sudden fear he saw in her dark brown eyes. A panicked expression that hit him like a blow to his gut. It was ever the same. Everyone feared him. They always had. Even when he'd been a mere lad, the monks and priests had known he wasn't quite human and had treated him accordingly—like excrement that was best buried before it tainted those around it. But it'd been so long since he was around another that he'd forgotten how much it hurt to be so rejected.

“You are an abomination to God! A cursed bastard! Unfit to be with your betters.”

He winced mentally at the memory of his commander. He'd sworn to himself that he'd never again be so stupid. So desperate. That under no circumstance would he allow another into his world or heart.

It just wasn't worth the pain that invariably followed.

Though it wasn't in him while in a fight or battle, he knew it would be best to withdraw from this conflict before she attacked him. No good could come of it. Besides, he was used to solitude. There was no need in learning better now.

“Stay in safety, lass. I shall return come morning and show you the way home.” He used his powers to pull his cloak and sword to him, and quickly left what little
cwtch
he had, taking only a brief pause to ensure she was secured inside so that nothing could reach her.

In the bleak darkness outside, he stood with his hand on the stone he used for a doorway, and sighed as old memories ripped through him. Only then, it'd been a petite blonde who'd stared up at him in terror as enemies had ransacked her home and conquered her people.

They would have slaughtered her and her family, too. But like a fool, he'd risked his own life to save theirs.

He rubbed at the scar on his chest and pushed the thought away. Like Æthla, the past was long gone.

There was nothing to be done about it, for sure. He'd made his thorny bed. And now he knew there would never be a reprieve for the useless likes of him. This was his eternal reality.

Bitter isolation and the harshest survival.

So be it.

But as he turned to walk through the twisted, gnarled forest where his enemies waited to battle him, he remembered the taste of a warm kiss from Jo, and the sensation of a soft hand in his.

You could keep her here.

There was no way for her to cross over without his assistance. She'd never make it back to the portal on her own.

But as he heard the shrill banshee cries and the sound of night predators searching for blood, he knew he couldn't do that to another.

He wasn't his brother.

And unlike
him,
she'd done nothing wrong. She'd said it herself. She didn't deserve to be sentenced to this hell.

Wishing himself mortal for the millionth time this day alone, Cadegan transformed to a small blackbird and flew to nest in a tree for the night.

*   *   *

With a heavy
sigh, Jo returned the dice to the leather pouch and tucked them and the small box back into the larger one where Cadegan kept them stored. Her heart lurched at his paltry entertainment.

So much for Xbox. He'd probably kill to have something like that here.

As she closed the lid, she scowled at the sight of a bright red spot on top of the wood. It was fresh blood. Glancing around, she saw more spattered drops and a few smears, and realized that Cadegan must have been injured in his fight while he protected her.

Why hadn't he said anything about it?

And as she stood there, she saw images in her mind of Cadegan alone at the table, playing against his own shadow, for hours on end, as he faced the sparse earthen wall.

Night after night.

How did he stand it? The solitude alone had to be excruciating. No music. No TV.

No conversation.

In fact, she was able to search his entire place completely in less than half an hour. It was the tiniest of homes.

His cupboard held some dried meat and fruit. A few onions, small bowls of dried leeks and barley. Flagon of wine and mead. His old-styled pots were as meager and bare as the furnishings. A few skins on the floor.

Damn.

After climbing the narrow wooden ladder, she stood in the small loft and stared at the twin-sized pallet that said he didn't entertain others in his bed. Ever. She was actually surprised the tiny thing fit him alone.

The thin mattress was made of straw and covered with a clean, worn linen bedsheet and furs. There was a larger old-fashioned trunk set next to it that contained another black robe like the one he'd worn, along with a leather-wrapped kit for mending his chain mail. A needle and thread. Two white linen tunics and three wool breeches. Three pairs of scratchy wool socks.

Dang, his life sucked. She'd never again complain about hers. It might have moments of supreme misery, but she always had her family around to make her laugh no matter how bad she felt.

Sitting on the bed, she heard a slight rattle. She glanced at the post and found an old wooden rosary, of all things, hung there.

“Guess you can't be a vampire and sleep with that.”

As she leaned back against the headboard, she realized that it was an ancient shield of some sort. Celtic in design, yet she'd always assumed they used small round shields, like the ones hanging in his walls. This one reminded her more of a long Roman type. And it appeared to be made of solid gold.