Chapter 12-343 - Mickal McCallick Returns (1/2)

“Ye little scamp, ye just want me to take ye t’ town so’s ye can ogle the new dresses at Cannock’s...”

He touched the edge of her jawbone, cracked by heat and time and final screams. “Och, of course Tommy O’Reilly pulled yer pigtails. They be made fer pullin’, no?”

“Ice cream! Do I be made of money for ye?”

“Manure be the food of the land. If ye think it stinks, don’t eat from the garden!”

He paused as a footbone caressed his fingers, and another red tear joined the ones going down his face. “Aye, Spottie-boy, ye were a good dog,” he told the Carin Terrier whose broken body had been thrown into the fire with his masters. “Did ye nae catch so many of the thieving varmints for us over the years? Did ye nae pull on my sister’s skirts like a proper dog? Good dog, good dog...”

Ahhh...

He lifted the silver earring up, and his heart lurched. “Nay, Mamai, ye look finer than the Lady, o’ course. She’s a harridan proper, a jealous witch, thinking yer temptin’ the Lord...”

A white rib rose from ash at his finger. “Aye, and I found me a girl at last, Mamai. She’s got a serpent hiding in her tongue and a spine like burning iron, a good proper woman. Ye can see her here, waiting for me, slow-witted coward that I am. She had me come back, y’see, nagging her fool of a man t’ doin’ what’s proper and right...

An ankle bone... “Posh, dinna mind it’s the Lady’s cast-off, Mamai, ye’re twice the dancer she is an’ ever be. Ye and the ol’ fart just go off an’ have a night of it, now...”

A shinbone was pulled forth, and he flinched. “Aye, ye auld man, I’m movin’, I’m movin’, no need to kick. Doin’ the job right, I am, as long as it takes...

One of the wristbones came forth, and he flinched again. “Not so hard on the head, auld man! I learned, I did, and I came back, dinnae I? Aye, I needed a nag t’ do it, just like yer lazy arse needed Mamai t’ get out of bed in the morning. Did she nae tell ye that ye couldn’t find yer hands at the ends o’ yer arms without her? ‘twas true, ye hardarse old fart...

“Ye wanted me to sing in the church, Mamai?” A tooth rolled between his fingers. “I couldnae, I’m sorry. The priest, he was a sanctimonious fucktard, what bangin’ the MacDonnel widow and all, an’ him preening so much up there, I couldnae hold me stomach.

“Aye, auld man, I saw him there. Ye’ll be happy t’know that the last thing I did afore I ran with the hunters on me tail all those years ago was strangle the two-faced fucktard t’ death an’ impale him with his precious candelabra on that altar he profaned.

“I cannae comb your hair now, ya little scamp. Y’know that were Mamai’s private thing, did ye not? No? Aye, she combed yer hair as Granny once combed hers...

“St. Patty did nae drive all the snakes from Ireland, scamp, or the Ocras would nae be here, would they?”

He touched something hidden under the center of the pile, and paused once again, his words trailing off. It took a minute for his resolve to strengthen before he could reach down, find the eye holes, and pull up the yellowed and brackened bone, to look upon the stern and dour skull of his father.

“Aye, they did hunt me like a dog, auld man. When they tired o’ doin’ it themselves, they put a bounty on me an’ let the greedy do the work for ‘em. I had to run a good long ways, halfway ‘round the world...

“Aye, I weren’t a fighter fer the clan. I had t’ learn on me own, scrap and claw, in a world where the Blooded couldnae hide so well anymore, feared as hard as the dead bastards rulin’ the Clans.

“It was a time and a tale, but, ye might see I’ve made a wee bit o’ something o’ myself.”

He reached out again, sure despite himself, there and there, forcing his hands into ash too hot and far too cold, grasping, pulling forth, and gently setting them side by side.

He sat back on his white-shoed heels, facing his family.

“There’s a few of the clan about, here and there,” he told them somberly. “Nae the lords, as far be I know, ‘less there’s a half-Blood among the common folk from His Lordship’s philandering. Dinnae care about their blood, auld man.

“Found me a new Patron. Right heroic Jesus-girl, goin’ t’ save the whole world. Och, ye knew her already? Well, nae a surprise. She showed me some powerful things, her and her friends, put me on a path where finally I might be able t’ do something about something.

“Ye know what yer fool of a son an’ brother be goin’ t’ be? I’ll be King of Ireland Herself, Mamai, auld man, ye scamp.

“But before then, there be a few things that have t’ be done.”

He reached out slowly to stroke the blackened, yellowed bones, laying so long in ash hot cold.

“I’ll let ye rest, at last. Ye’re goin’ t’ get a proper burial now, a proper grave, an’ a proper stone. Well, mayhap not so proper a stone, ye know ai got t’ be meself.

“And then, well, I’m goin’ to head me on down to County Cork, an’ I’m goin’ t’ be covering their fine green lawns in the red o’ the Fir Ocras.

“Aye, ‘tis a cycle of hate, Mamai. But me girl, she’s a razor, she is, an’ she told me t’ hie off to the temple an’ make the crimes against us known, an’ judgement rendered.”

He withdrew another strip of paper from his pocket, and it de-Itemized, revealing three plain ivory plaques, shaped like old shields, smooth and white... and the bottom of them were dipped in crimson.

“Ye not be knowin’ of these new gods, mayhaps. These here be Uskvaran Ivory Shields. I did confess all that I had seen an’ learned of those days to the Inquisitors of Harse, under Seal an’ Oath and magic an’ all that rot.

“They did their investigatin’ on their own, an’ returned to me with these.

“By no law of Ireland will these three names be caught an’ tried, nae before a court of men. By Harse an’ by Uskvar, these three names on here be judged guilty o’ murder, arson, theft, pillaging, and inciting riots, among sundry an’ other despicable acts such as I’ll not be inflictin’ upon yer ears. I knew the bastards were rot and filth back then, an’ they’ve not stopped with the blood e’er since.

“If I bring them t’ justice, they be brought to justice. If I fail, they go free. This be more about more than me now, auld man, Mamai. When I look into the face of the heartless scum an’ filth what killed so many, I get to be sayin’ I’m about the true holy work.”

His chuckle was deep and pained, and heavy with anger and hate. “I’ll not be failin’ about this holy task, auld man, Mamai. ‘tis as executioner I’m goin’, and their time is upon them.