Winged

It was Callum’s fault he decided after knocking back his second drink of the afternoon. The bartender glanced curiously at him but said nothing, merely nodded after Niall gestured for another drink.

The door to the pub opened. “By all the gods, Niall,” Callum groaned, “I’ve been trying to find you all morning.”

Niall grunted. It was Callum’s fault; Callum made him go see a solicitor about his brother’s will.

“Is that what I think it is?” Callum slid next to him at the bar and pointed to the slim black notebook in front of Niall.

Niall glared at the offending thing. Damn Neasan. Damn him! It was his fault too.

Callum, lacking any and all boundaries after nearly fifteen years of friendship, grabbed the journal. He studied the first few pages before swallowing thickly. “Have you read this, mate?”

“Of course I read it,” he growled.

Callum flipped through the journal and swore. “Bloody hell I’m rusty on my runes but this doesn’t look good.”

Niall was probably worse with runes than Callum and his cursory reading told him the same thing. Damn his brother and damn the fuckers who murdered him.

The bartender came over with his drink and Niall knocked it back again.

“How many have you had?” Callum shook his head. “Come on, mate, let’s go.” Callum pulled out his credit card and handed it to the bartender.

“Rowan kicked me out.” At least the alcohol was doing its job as he didn’t feel the typical pang in his chest at those words.

“Yeah, I know, he called me and told me all the kinds of idiot you were being.”

“He’s the idiot.”

“Yeah,” Callum sighed and ran a hand through his messy blonde hair, “Yeah he is too.”

He winced as Callum pushed him into the afternoon sun. “Bloody hell what time is it?”

Callum snorted. “Too early to be this fucked up.” Callum glanced at his phone. “But you still have enough time to make the train.”

Niall shook off Callum’s arm and stumbled to the ground. The pavement cut into his palms and the fierce sting cleared his mind for a precious few seconds.

“What are you talking about?” Niall said, dusting off his jeans and wincing as his grated palms screamed in protest.

Callum shook the journal. “This, of course.” Niall stared blankly, at both journal and friend. “I’m calling Aisling — she’ll pack a bag for you and meet us at the station.”

“I’m not—” But the words got stuck in his throat. Was he really going to pass up twenty grand because…because it was his dead younger brother’s money? His family’s money? Because his boy—because his ex-boyfriend, who could use the money, would likely refuse to even see him?

Damn Neasan. The bastard. He could have just given him the money but no — he had to give instructions and attempt to exert control over his life one more time.

Callum pushed him into a taxi. “This is the easiest twenty grand you’ll ever make,” he said before adding, softer, “And Rowan needs it.”

“Fucker,” Niall muttered. “Dumps me and now I’m going to get twenty grand for him?” Niall rummaged in his pockets. “Fuck do you got a light?”

“We’re not smoking anymore, remember?” Callum scowled out the window.

“Fuck that,” Niall said, resolving to buy a pack before he boarded the train.

Twenty thousand euros. A suspiciously specific endowment from his brother but then Niall should have known better than to assume his family wasn’t keeping tabs on him…and everyone close to him. Apparently, when he decided he wanted nothing to do with them, not all members agreed. He had assumed that his mother and father had strong-armed the entire family to agree to his self-exile.

He thought back to what his brother had written. Simple and concise for a sixteen-year-old. He had written it, if the date was to be believed, the day after Niall officially walked away from the family three years ago.

Dear Niall,

I hope I can give this to you — I hope I can reach out personally to reconcile but I suppose it will work just as well (maybe better) if I’m dead. Mother and Father are still socializing with…certain individuals. I don’t like them either, you know, but I don’t disagree wholly with their message.

I don’t trust, either, that this will end well for our parents…or me. But that’s beside the point.

I have spoken to Grandfather, who is vehemently opposed to everyone Mother and Father are consorting with, as well as your untimely departure. He has agreed to endow a monetary sum to you (the amount to be determined later) if you agree and follow these conditions.

First, you must go home to Ravenhall.

Second, you must see Grandfather, or, gods forbid he is dead, the current Patriarch of the family and answer this riddle: To who do ravens sing?

If you do these things, Grandfather will transfer the money onto you to do with as you wish.

I am sorry, brother, for following a different path than you would have liked for me. My mistakes are my own, though, and my hope is that you will not allow your mistakes to rule you as mine do me.

Is that too much to ask?

May these words have wings,

Neasan

The words did have wings, Niall thought wryly, as they flew around his head incessantly while the train rattled north.

He had not been to Ravenhall since he was nineteen, the night he ran away three years ago. But Callum was right. This would be the easiest twenty grand he’d ever get in his life. Go to Ravenhall and say two words to Grandfather. And then twenty grand — just the right amount of money to pay off Rowan’s debts.

Typical of his family to know exactly how much trouble someone he cared about was in and use it to their advantage. He’d sooner tell the lot of them to fuck off but…

Twenty grand. Two words and twenty grand. He repeated this like a mantra the entire ride north. Two words and twenty grand.

A car was waiting for him at the station.

“Fucking eyes everywhere,” Niall muttered before sauntering over. Hell, it was still a free ride.

Before he was truly ready, the gates to Ravenhall loomed over him.

Aunt Sibéal was at the door. She wore the lightest shade of black acceptable for a sister in mourning. Daring, was Niall first thought before he could remember he hated his family.

“Niall!” She smiled and Niall did his best to ignore how her eyes watered. “You’re here.”

“I’m here to see Grandfather,” he said as he tried to brush past her.

She blocked his path. “They’re gone.”

Niall winced. “I was an orphan long before they died.”

“I didn’t mean—” She sighed. “I meant…those people…that your parents hung around.”

Niall raised an eyebrow and tried to move past her again. “So?”

She raised her hands in the air. “You painted us all with the same brush you know?”

“I don’t really remember any of you rushing to help.”


“I don’t really remember you asking for our help.”

Niall glared. Damn her for being right though.

“Where’s Grandfather?”

She huffed, rolling her eyes. “In the study.”

Niall walked past her to the stairs.

“Niall!” Grandmother called from the hall. Her joyous smile made him wince. Damn Neasan for making him do this. “Oh Niall,” she rushed towards, arms open, “It’s so good to see you, darling.” She wrapped her arms around him; he tentatively hugged her back. “Where’s Callum? Or Rowan? Are you staying long?”

Niall swallowed thickly. “I’m here to see Grandfather.”

She smiled wanly, “Of course, of course.” She straightened his leather jacket and patted his cheek. “You’ll stay for dinner of course. I’ll tell the kitchen to make your favorite.”

“Grandmother—” He wanted to protest but she was already walking away. Was it really that simple? His parents gone and his family back to normal? Back to how he remembered them as a kid? He groaned, running a hand through his hair.

He turned back to the door; one problem at a time.

Grandfather was sitting in his favorite wingback chair near a roaring fire. He had a slim black notebook, identical to Neasan’s open in front of him. Niall flinched, recognizing it as his own journal, the one he left behind.

Grandfather glanced briefly towards him. He gestured to the opposite wingback before refocusing on Niall’s black book.

“Have you read through Neasan’s book?” Grandfather asked after Niall sat down.

Niall shook his head. “No.”

“Haven’t kept up with your runes then?” Grandfather asked knowingly.

He ground his teeth and lied, “No.”

Grandfather harrumphed. “You were always a terrible liar. Unlike your parents.” Grandfather met his gaze over the black book. “Neasan told me his plans…and his regrets.”

Niall clenched his fists. “Regrets,” he spat, “Regrets he could have fixed if he had help.”

“The two of you had more in common than you thought then.”

“You let him get murdered.”

“I told him to come home. I told your father to come home. They didn’t listen to me.”

“Are you here to tell me the same?”

Grandfather looked him over carefully, finally putting the journal to the side. Niall wished he had burned that before he had left.

“You can’t lie to me Niall,” he started softly. “I’ve read your journal a thousand times wondering where I went wrong—” Niall opened his mouth to explain, in loud detail exactly where the family went wrong but Grandfather raised his hand to stop him. “Enough, I know your words before you can speak them. In the end, it wasn’t what I did but what I didn’t do that drove you from our home. And I’m sorry.”

Niall swallowed the words stuck in his throat.

Grandfather handed the notebook over to him; Niall took it slowly. “You knew our purpose, Niall, and you believed it. You’ve turned your back on us because of the mistakes of your parents and brother. Don’t turn your back on us now.”

“I need the money,” Niall said through bloodless lips.

Grandfather smiled wryly, a half-grin that was as familiar to Niall as his own face. “Rowan needs the money.”

“I love him.” Even if he was being a giant prat at the moment.

“Your loyal to your bones, Niall,” Grandfather smiled. “It’s a family trait.”

Niall grimaced. He knew that…that was why…that was why he had left. The betrayal to the family’s purpose was so against everything he had been raised to believe. His entire life felt like a lie. And now he was left to wonder if it hadn’t been his entire life, his entire family, but just parts…just his parents.

“To who do the ravens sing?”

Neasan had called it a riddle, but it wasn’t a riddle. It was a reminder, a lesson, a truth. Ravenhall was so named for the ravens that flocked to the family’s sacred ground and so ravens became sacred to them. A flock that files together stays together. With a single purpose. A greater purpose.

To who do the ravens sing? To who they have always sung.

“The family.”