The Shadows' Child

A Nightmare

All Liam could see, for miles and miles around, were trees. Towering above him like silent sentries, looming in the darkness. He looked around quickly, frightened by something. What? What was he so scared by? He had no idea. All he knew was that it was getting closer. Closer. The night was cool and the moon was full; its light filtered eerily through the leaves of the forest, turning them silver. A scattering of stars glinted against the sky. It was a beautiful night. But it was too quiet.

All of a sudden a twig snapped behind him. He spun round and there it was. Hanging back in the darkness of the trees were faces. Ominous figures amongst the branches. Men carrying stones, hurls and axes. A mob. Men with shadowed faces, cold and cruel in the flickering flames of their torches. Liam's legs felt frozen and his heart thundered loudly in his ears, but it was strange, a dull pulse crawling under his skin. Wrong.

The men in the trees made no move. They stood like statues amid the bark and bracken, watching him, waiting...For what? Liam backed away from them uneasily, staggering into the undergrowth. Breaking the stillness. That was it. That was what they had been waiting for. A smooth voice rose up into the dark, midnight sky. "Get it, lads." The men advanced, weapons poised dangerously, moonlight glinting off steel and glancing off wood. His legs abruptly came unstuck from the forest floor and Liam began to run. He was fast, but fear made him clumsy. Brambles and sprawling tree roots sent him stumbling, he shot a terrified look over his shoulder. They were catching up. Then his foot caught something, pitching him forward. He went flying to the ground, landing heavily against a fallen tree, winding himself. Before he had time to look up, someone grabbed the collar of his shirt, hauling him around to face them.

The man was huge. Easily six foot but probably more. Powerfully built. His linen shirt was crumpled and stained with dirt around the cuffs that were pushed loosely up to his elbows. Anger and disgust were etched into every line and muscle of his face, a vein jumped in his throat viciously. His bright blue eyes were full of fire and Liam cowered against the ruined tree trunk without thinking. He was quickly dragged forward again, this time by the hair. The crowd was getting restless now, stones were being weighed in hands and the murmur of male voices rippled through the night air. Liam felt his head being jerked up roughly to face the unquiet masses in front of him.

"What now, Father?" The man holding him prisoner asked. A priest stood forward then, he looked old and weak, but his eyes were a dark, steely blue. Strong and kind, Liam knew for some reason; but now they were filled with merciless hate. It was unfamiliar. Liam could hear himself begging, but it didn't feel like him. The words in his mouth and his mind suddenly weren't his own. But that didn't matter. They were cut off severely by a swift blow to the stomach from the tall man's boot.

"You don't have to do this, Peadar," the priest said, breaking away from the swarm of men, "we can get someone else to-"

"No. It's my problem, Father, I'll take care of it."

The priest eyed the man steadily, but then relented with a sigh. "Alright, son," he said quietly, "alright." Silently he beckoned forward a boy carrying an axe. The boy, no older than sixteen, handed the axe to Peadar and then melted back into the crowd. Liam's mind was working in a kind of blind panic, his ears were ringing and his stomach was clenching heavily, he heard himself begging again.

"Shut up," Peadar growled and bashed Liam's head down against the fallen tree trunk violently. Liam was dimly aware of blood in his mouth, sour and viscous, making him feel ill. His vision was swimming a little but he could hear everything so clearly. Almost too clearly. The priest cleared his throat, turning his hands to the sky.

"God, whose nature is ever merciful and forgiving, accept our prayer that this servant of yours, bound by the fetters of sin, may be pardoned by your loving kindness." There was silence for a moment and then he was holding rosary beads, Liam could hear them clicking against each other softly. The usually comforting noise sounded warped and vile in his ears, shrouded in pain and blood. The crowd had come forward now, forming a loose semi circle around Peadar, Liam and the priest. Blood ran down Liam's lips, dripping onto his fisted hands. The blood was as black as pitch.

"Depart, then, impious one, depart, accursed one, depart with all your deceits, for God has willed that man should be His temple." Liam felt water on his face. Holy water. This was wrong. So wrong. The low rumble of Latin trembled through his bones for what felt like an eternity. He didn't understand, couldn't. It was wrong. The Latin stopped and the priest switched to Irish almost desperately. Liam could recognise words, phrases, prayers; but the gentle sounds had become venomous and determined, almost tearing themselves out of the elderly man's mouth. The priest paced, rosary beads swinging in rough, choppy motions as he made the sign of the cross. The blood from Liam's mouth still ran black and coagulating.

Without warning the murmuring stopped and the priest stood stock still, staring at Liam, an almost sad look in his eyes. "Peadar, I am sorry. It's still...It's still there. There is nothing more I can do. I...I am so very sorry."

Liam looked up from his hands to the tall man holding the axe. Peadar glanced down at him, full of grief but driven by complete hatred now. Driven by necessity. Liam's hand rose of its own accord reaching out to the man. "Daddy, Daddy, no." And that wasn't his voice.

"Don't listen to it, Peadar," said a voice.

"It's tryin' to trick you!" Said another.

"She's gone, son," said the priest.

"It's me! Daddy, it's me!" Liam heard the voice inside him cry.

"Evil, Peadar, it's evil, so it is!" Someone spat.

"She's a child of the shadows now, Peadar," the priest said solemnly. "The shadows' child, not your's."

"Daddy, please, please...Help me! Please stop," Liam felt himself sob.

Peadar's face turned hard and he raised the axe. A woman's voice pierced though the heart of the nighttime sky. "Peadar, no! Ceara!" Liam froze. Ceara? Then his eye caught the axe and he saw his reflection in the dancing glow of the torches. Only it wasn't his reflection. Long red hair, silver grey eyes. The moon drifted out from behind a cloud, wiping the axe clean of the image. But it had been-

"Ceara!" Screamed the voice again. His mother's voice. No, her mother's voice.

Then the axe swung down.

"No!" Liam roared. He was sitting bolt upright in bed. Sweat was running down his back, his shirt sticking feverishly to his skin. Dream. A dream. It was only a dream. He raised shaking hands to his face and rubbed at his eyes. His knuckles came back wet. His dreams had been getting progressively worse lately, more vivid. It was all terrifyingly real. And now he was having creepy horror movie dreams about someone he had met once for less than fifteen minutes. He needed help. Seriously.

Throwing back the sheets he glanced at the alarm clock by his bed. Half past five in the morning. The glowing numbers seemed to mock him. There was no way he could get back to sleep after that. So, on shaking legs, he stood up and made his way to the kitchen of his shitty, little flat, his heart still hammering fiercely against his ribcage. The glass of water he ended up drinking didn't seem to be helping any, his tongue still felt like it had been glued to the roof of his mouth. He gave a sigh and set the empty glass in the sink.

"Morning."

Liam's already pounding heart nearly gave up and stopped completely. He spun round.

"Johnny, what the actual fuck, man?" He shouted, clutching at his chest. What was it with people sneaking up on him lately?

"Dude," Johnny held up his hands in a peace making gesture, "chill."

"Chill? Chill? How the hell am I supposed to chill when I have people sneaking up on me at half five in the fucking morning? What the fuck are you doing here? How did you even get in?" Liam demanded.

Johnny moved past him calmly and began filling the kettle with water before switching it on. "You gave me the second key, remember?"

"Yes, I remember. But that is for emergencies, Johnny! Not for when you feel like making a cup of tea at five in the morning!"

"Half five," Johnny corrected as he began searching the cupboard for two clean-ish mugs.

"I don't give a damn, Johnny! Why are you here at half five in the morning?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"So you just decided to stage a breaking and entering?"

"Well technically it's not breaking and entering, I have a key," Johnny reminded him, jingling said key in one hand while pouring the hot water into two mugs with the other. The tea bag at the bottom of each mug swirled to the top.

"Which I am totally taking off you by the way," Liam grumbled as he helped himself to the second cup of tea, adding the milk himself. Johnny made his tea so strong that a herd elephants could walk over it. It was kind of gross.

Johnny sat up on the counter, swinging his legs like an overgrown child and blowing on his tea. "No you're not," he grinned.

"Yes, I am. Maybe this time I'll give it to someone who doesn't just waltz into peoples' homes at ridiculous hours of the morning."

"But I just love you so much, Liam," Johnny said seriously, "I want to spend every waking and or non-waking moment with you. I just wanna be with you, man."

"Well did you have to be with me this early?"

Johnny's face broke into a delighted smile, "A wizard is never late," he said loftily, "nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he-"

"Shut up," Liam mumbled, a smile tugging at his mouth. "God, you're such a dork, man."

"You knew that already," Johnny sipped his tea.

"Why couldn't you sleep?"

"What?"

"You said you came over 'cause you couldn't-"

"Oh yeah. Well, Molly's away visiting some friends in Scotland and I really don't sleep well when she's not there. I get lonely...See she usually tires me out so much with all the-"

"Whoa! Shut up!"

"Dude, wait! I mean she-"

"Molly is like my sister, Johnny! Jeez."

"But she does this thing with her-"

"I don't want to know!"

"Fine," Johnny sighed, "fine! Your loss."

"You shouldn't be let out of the house, I swear."

Johnny smirked, just a little, and then his brow furrowed. "So why couldn't you sleep?"

Suddenly Liam's lungs felt tight and the good humour in his eyes died, the spark extinguished. He took a sip of his tea and stared into the mug. "Bad dreams," he said, a shiver snaking its way down his spine, "just bad dreams."

♠ ♠ ♠

Sorry this chapter is a bit shorter. I've been all kinds of busy lately with work experience and stuff, but I've had this chapter in my head for so long now that just needed to get it out. :S

Okay, so a 'hurl' just for those who aren't familiar with Irish sports, is used to play 'hurling'. It's basically a long wooden stick, a bit like a hockey stick but not really. It's heavier usually. In the time period the dream is set in, it would look a bit like this.

Also, the Lord of the Ring's reference, sadly, doesn't belong to me. :(
Reviews would cheer me up though. :3