Free The Sting of Justice by Cora Harrison

of his pointing finger. Silhouetted in front of the deep blue of the sea, and the pale hazy outlines of the Aran Islands, she could see a long line of men toiling down its stony slopes carrying leather buckets.
    ‘The village is just over the brow of this next bit, Brehon,’ called Enda who had gone ahead after depositing his satchel at her feet.
    ‘Let’s look at it, then,’ said Mara. ‘You can eat the oatcakes afterwards.’ She was curious to see the little village of houses that Sorley had built for his workers and she followed the boys up the last bit of hill and then stopped.
    As Toin had described, it was indeed an ugly, sordid place, the single-roomed hovels built from loosely stacked stones, even one that seemed to be made entirely from sods of turf. All of the roofs, made from decayed rushes, had large gaping holes. Here and there, the doors were rotten
and hanging crookedly from their hinges of leather. There were very few people around, just a couple of heavily pregnant women with some very small children. Everyone else seemed to have gone to work in the mines above. The children upset her. They were dressed in rags and were all very thin and lethargic-looking. Mara sent a friendly smile in their direction, but no one moved or smiled back. One mother clutched at two small boys and firmly marched them into the house behind and slammed the door. Mara turned to go back. This place disturbed and distressed her. No human beings should live in conditions like these. However, live they did and it was their homes. She should not invade their village with her troop of well-fed and well-dressed boys. She snapped her fingers at Bran, who was trying to make friendly overtures to a few of the ragged children, and she had turned to go when she heard a hoarse chuckle from behind her.
    ‘No sense in staying too long here,’ said a voice almost from under her feet. ‘There’s nothing here for anyone.’
    Mara started in surprise and almost fell over the body at her feet. It was the man whom she had seen at the graveyard, twisted and gnarled with a missing arm, a hunched-up body and a disfigured face. He had been sitting on the ground beside the little cabin made from the sods of turf and the rags which half covered his mutilated body were so mouldy and stained that it was hard to distinguish him against the greens and browns of the vegetation around. Indeed, he hardly looked like a man, crouched there, peering up at her, but Bran had no hesitation. Like his mother before him, Bran was a dog that loved all mankind and with a bark of pleasure he bounded forward. The man screamed, a horrible
sound, a scream which seemed to be dragged from the depths of a body which had known so much suffering that it could take no more.
    ‘Get back, Bran!’ shouted Mara desperately; but for once the dog did not obey her. Bran was already on top of the man, overjoyed to find one of his beloved humans at his own level and was enthusiastically licking the man’s face. She grabbed Bran’s collar and tried to drag him back. She had no fear that Bran would hurt the man, but that scream had been unnerving. However, the man was now smiling, at least Mara thought he was smiling – it was hard to be sure – and his remaining arm had gone around the dog’s neck. Mara could now see that one of his legs was useless, withered and twisted beneath him. He was an appalling sight, a repulsive sight and, with shame, Mara knew that if the dog had not run over, her own instinct might have been to avert her gaze and move away as quickly as possible. Something of the loneliness and the desire for comfort within the unfortunate man seemed to have been communicated to Bran. Always friendly, he was now showing the degree of love that he normally kept for a few favoured special friends.
    The boys huddled together in an aghast group and Mara knelt down in the wet soil and looked into the man’s face. ‘You have been badly hurt, my friend,’ she said