Michael Flynn: In the Lion’s Mouth

It ought to relieve her.

She remembers how Donovan had gone with Méarana into the Wild to search for her, despite his belief that to do so was death. She remembers that he was the first thing she had seen when she had awoken from that death-in-sleep into which the guardians of the Commonwealth Ark had placed her. She remembers too that he had been coming to Dangchao at last when Olafsdottr snatched him up on Jehovah. Should she condemn the Shadow for that, or thank her?

She knows at last what the Shadow has come to ask and it grieves her sore that she cannot grant it.

“We’ll have dinner presently,” she says gruffly. “Have ye any preferences?”

“I’m not hungry,” her daughter tells her. But the soft notes that drift from her harp hunger nonetheless.

“Something light,” says Graceful Bintsaif in a hesitant voice. “A tomato sandwich perhaps.”

“Ooh, what is the dish that the Beastie boys favor?” the Confederal Shadow asks. “Since at loong last I am oon Dangchao, I may as well savor it.”

“It’s called ‘fry-pan,’” Méarana tells her. “It’s pretty much anything to hand—potatoes, sausage, onions, beef ends, peppers—fried up in an iron skillet and mixed with egg and flour into a casserole of sorts.”

“It soonds delicious.”

Bridget ban smiles without humor and turns from her contemplation of the empty and darkling prairie. “Did you hear, Mr. Wladislaw?”

“Aye, mum,” a voice replies. “And yourself?”

“A Crenshaw Salad, I think. Addleberry dressing.” Then, arms folded across her chest, she faces the Shadow. “You have not come all this way to tell us nothing, Ravn Olafsdottr. How came you to awake in Gidula’s ship?”

The Shadow bends forward over arms resting on knees. She looks to the floor as if searching for something lost in the carpet. “Gidula,” she says in a low voice. Then, more loudly, “He monitor battle from afar; and when he see Geshler fight the Long Tall One, he knew himself betrayed. A heroic Geshler heroically returned was not at all to his taste. And so he intervened.” She looks up and catches Bridget ban by the eyes. “Gidula told me that Geshler had been defeated, but I know he lies for no better reason than the practice. He scattered the fighters from the air—both sides—and only Geshler, Ekadrina, and my unconscious form remained when he landed. He told Ekadrina to withdraw and salve her wounds and, as she was no fool, she did as he bade. Then Gidula took Geshler and me aboard his shuttle. This I know from what he told me and what he failed to tell me.”

Bridget ban nods. She glances at her daughter, who has essayed a small geantraí on her harp: a happy, triumphant tune that is more premature than she realizes. “And what did Gidula tell you?”

“That he had rescued us from death at Ekadrina’s hand. But I knew where matters stood with him and, more importantly, he knew that I knew. We had collaborated to bring a lackwit Geshler back. Even had he died fighting Ekadrina, he would have inspired the rebel cause. Gidula could allow neither victory nor defeat, and so he deprived him of both. For the same reason, he could not slay Geshler and leave him for Oschous to find. Oschous would have used him to inspire the others. And so he put me to kaowèn.” She looks up. “Yes. That why he need me hale. But kaowèn for question only, never punishment.” She laughs without humor. “One more tradition lost.”

Méarana sucks in her breath and Bridget ban glances at her sharply. “Could you have expected anything less?” she asks the Shadow.

“From time we fight Frog Prince together,” Olafsdottr answers, “I see no other end but that.”

“And yet you brought him back regardless,” says Méarana. Then she stops and her mouth rounds out. “No, he brought you back.”

“Yes,” Ravn says in clear Gaelactic. “Just how clever is Donovan buigh? He knew that those fetching him had only Billy Chins’s initial report that his mind was still shattered and he was an ineffectual old drunkard. To whose benefit was it to bring such a man into the fray? To no friend of the Revolution, I think. Perhaps that was his first betrayal. That he knew and said nothing. Perhaps he always meant to join the Revolution, for his vengeance; but at his own time and on his own terms.”

“No,” says Bridget ban almost to herself, “that was not his first betrayal.”

“By your own account,” Graceful Bintsaif says, “you fought well in the defense of the warehouse. You even fought in Padaborn’s colors. Sharp work for Gidula’s man.”

“What? I should break cover? I fought well because to fight less than well was suicide. Who in battle space ask opponent polite, ‘Be you dooble agent?’ And beside…” She stops and shakes her head in annoyance.

“And beside,” Méarana finishes for her with a little laugh, “you had come to like them. Oschous, and Domino, and the rest.”

“You still not oonderstand, young harper. I admired them all. Ekadrina and Oschous, both. Domino Tight had been my brother in the Abattoir. Epri had been my teacher. Dawshoo and Gidula were legends whose exploits I had long studied. I betrayed my own master for love of Donovan buigh; but it was only in that battle, when the Names intervened on both sides , that I came to see that they must be overthrown.”

“‘For love of Donovan buigh,’” Bridget ban quotes her.

But the Shadow shrugs. “He is many enough that more than one may love him.”

“He joined the fight only when you fell fighting as him,” the Hound points out. “I think he fought for love of you. ”

“Think what you wish, Red Hound. Little enough do you know of such things.”

Méarana laughs and the others all turn to her. “I told you,” she says with a pluck at her harp stings. “It was they who finally joined him . He put on the colors of Geshler Padaborn only after Ravn fought truly for the Revolution. Tell me, Dark One, though I think I already know, why you came here this night to tell us this tale; for I see it has no end to it.”

The Ravn shows white teeth. “Is it not oobvious? Gidula has Donovan buigh and has taken him to his citadel. He left me behind when he passed through Delpaff. I was no more use to him, but for sake of my former use he did not ‘retire’ me. Sentimental old fool! What mere planetary prison can hold the likes of me? A throat cut here; a palm crossed there … Steel and silver won me free. The Delpaffonis do not even know I have escaped.” She hugs herself. “Ooh, I am soo clayver!”

Bridget ban returns to her chair and sits. “And you desire what of me, O so clever one?”

“You know. You have known this while. To free Donovan from Gidula’s citadel, of course. I am very good, but I cannot do that alone.”

Bridget ban barks an involuntary laugh. “But the two of us might? What are the chances of two snowballs in hell?”

“Very good, I think. On the Groom’s Britches, our legends say Hel is froozen.”

“Would your friends nae help?” Méarana asks the Shadow. “What of the other rebels?”

“Domino Tight would help, for old times’ sake. Perhaps Big Jacques, simply for the challenge. And he might persuade Little Jacques. They are old collaborators. But of Dawshoo and Oschous and the others, I am unsure. Dawshoo would not believe in Gidula’s treachery; and Oschous, who I believe has deduced much already, may see Padaborn as a potential rival. But for me … This is for me to do. Donovan and I are gozhiinyaw. How do you say it in Gaelactic? ‘Brothers-because-they-have-spilt-blood-for-each-other.’”