A large stone perched at a bend in the river. It held a smooth depression where she often sat cross-legged, contemplating the flow of the river. A perfect place to think.
Clíodhna climbed up to the spot, only slipping once on the ice still clinging to the edge of the stone outcropping. The day turned even warmer, almost spring-like. Perhaps the true thaw would come soon.
For several minutes, she did nothing but listen to the water with her eyes closed. She listened to the song of the current and breathed it into her soul. The magic of the natural world flowed through her like the river below, bringing her rest, strength, and confidence.
Every morning, she greeted the dawn and experienced a similar rush of power. Every evening, she said farewell to the sun. Each magic held a different flavor, overlaid with its own characteristics. The dawn burst forth, brilliant and energetic, full of life and hope. Each evening fell somnolent and sly, full of depth and intrigue. The river, though, remained eternal and immutable, promising endurance and strength.
“If you continue to draw power without using it, you might falter.”
Clíodhna whipped around to discover who spoke to her. She didn’t recognize the man, but judged him to be about her own age of thirty-three winters. He wore a full, dark beard with just a wisp of gray in the center. His ink-black, wavy hair wasn’t pulled up in warrior braids, but some of his beard was.
When she rose to confront him, she liked what she saw. He stood tall, lean, and with a mischievous smile on his face. She’d always been fond of men with a strong sense of humor.
She matched his smile. “Did you say something?”
“Indeed I did, Clíodhna. You’re not using your power wisely.”
Her whimsy disappeared in an instant. How did he know her name? Did he live in the village? One of the new monks?
He laughed. “I have no wish to confuse you, dear woman. True, I’m a stranger here, but I’ve known of you for some time. I came to seek you out.”
Clíodhna backed up a step, wishing she didn’t stand on a precarious ledge over a raging river. She saw absolutely nowhere to retreat to. He blocked her passage. Her breath grew shorter and she surreptitiously put her hand on the hilt of the knife she always wore on her belt. “Why do you seek me out?”
He walked forward and she tensed, her hand now gripping the knife handle. Her heart beat faster and power rushed through her. Her skin tingled with it, but she didn’t know how to direct it.
The stranger stopped, frowned, and then took several steps back. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, truly. Come, I will sit over here on this log. If you like, you can leave. Or you can come sit next to me.”
Clíodhna didn’t move, though her heartbeat slowed. Sweat formed on her brow and threatened to drip into her eyes, but she daren’t move to wipe it away.
The man sat on the log as he’d promised and waited. He didn’t fidget or whistle but sat in silent anticipation.
Should she trust him? He possessed knowledge of her. Did he question her children before he came here? Her glance flickered in the direction of her house, concerned that something had happened to Donn, Etromma, and Aileran. She poised on the balls of her feet, ready to flee, when he spoke again.
“I assure you, your children are fine. You need not rush off to them. Your Donn is quite the young man and has everything in hand.”
She didn’t like this. She didn’t like it one tiny bit. But she must discover how he knew her and what he intended. Both for her sake and that of her family.
With a decisive stride, she walked over and sat next to him. She faced him, though, so she could watch his reactions, and her hand remained on her knife. “Very well. Talk.”
“Oh, dear. So prickly! Well, I suppose it’s the best I could hope for, sneaking up on you in the middle of your ritual like that. I shall be certain to avoid such in the future.”
In the future? He presumes much. She crossed her arms, narrowing her gaze.
“You will want to know how I’ve heard of you. Well, I once knew your own parents, long ago.”
Clíodhna clenched her jaw, old pain hammering on her heart. Her parents had died during her childhood. “How long ago? You can’t be much older than I am.”
He laughed, a gentle sound that caressed her ears, trickling over the rocks like a babbling brook. “Oh, my, that’s quite rich. No, Clíodhna. Do not take my appearance as proof of my age.”
This cryptic comment made her head swirl. Little clues began piling in her mind, and she had a suspicion she would need to test.
“May I request something from you?”
“If I can grant it, you may.”
She held out her knife, a good strong piece of worked iron. “Touch this.”
He grimaced and pulled back. “You must be well aware I cannot.”
She knew it. He was Fae.
Clíodhna stood, taking several steps back while still holding the knife. She held it not like a weapon, ready to stab, but out in front of her like a talisman, a charm against the man still sitting on his log.
His shoulders slumped. “Danú, I’ve been making a right mess of this. Clíodhna, do please sit again. I vow to you upon my Queen’s life that I mean you no harm. I am not here to hurt or entrap you or your children in a spell, contract, or géis.”
Clíodhna had grown up with the small Aos Sídhe, those sprites of the woods and the land who remained tied to their places by their nature. They might not be precisely Fae themselves, but protected by the Fae. She’d seen them all her life, though most did not. She didn’t fear the spirits or the Fae, not categorically, but all the tales spoke of the danger in dealing with a higher Fae, and this man—no, this Faerie—must be a higher Fae.
Still, Faerie folk also had much magic. Perhaps he sought her out for something to her benefit. His vow seemed tight enough. She couldn’t figure out how he’d wiggle out of it to do her harm, but she’d remain vigilant.
With a fluid motion, she returned to her place on the log, but kept the knife in hand. “Now, tell me first, who you are, second, why you are here, and third, why I should deal with you in any manner at all.”
He let out a deep sigh and, eyeing Clíodhna’s knife, readjusted his seat on the log so he could face her. “I am Adhna and, as you have obviously surmised, I am Fae. I come from the Queen of my kingdom, Áine. She has detected your power and has sent me to assess you.”
Spikes of fear coursed through her blood. A Faerie Queen knew of her and her magic. So much for his assurances of safety. This could only spell danger. “Assess me? Am I a farm to be valued for purchase?”
“You are not a farm. You are a human with some magical talent. If you would like, I can teach you how to harness that power and use it rather than simply raise it and let it dissipate.”
“Everyone does magic. What would you teach me?”
He let out a sigh. “I do not speak of low magic, the sort of spells every woman performs in their kitchen. I speak of higher magic, that of the Fae and the nature spirits.”
“And how would such teaching serve your Queen?”
Adhna shrugged. “It may or it may not. I am granted some latitude in my mission. I could make the argument such lessons would make you a better tool should Queen Áine wish you to serve her. On the other hand, if she sees you as a threat, association with me might keep her from destroying you.”
Such a cold statement made her heart drop. “You said you meant me no harm.”
The side of his mouth rose in a charming half-smile. “And I meant it. You know Fae cannot outright lie. However, her will may override my intentions. I would rather you know this at the outset.”
Clíodhna had never been the same as other women. Her ability to see the forest sprites aside, her independent nature had always been viewed as odd. Other than women warriors, she’d rarely encountered women of power, and while she could wield a knife or a bow readily enough, she’d never pass for a warrior.
“Very well. I will take one lesson. After that, I wi
ll decide on further actions.” She placed her knife back into her belt and stood.
Adhna rose and grinned. The mischievous twinkle returned to his blue eyes. “Then I shall not yet ask you to take a formal vow. I will offer the first lesson free of any obligation or repayment.”
“I accept these terms. One lesson with no payment necessary. When?”
His grin deepened. “This time, but tomorrow? We can meet here, if you like. You’re comfortable in this place, and the local power responds to you.”
As much as she ached for time to herself, time to simply be alone, Adhna’s offer intrigued her to her soul. When she had been young, she’d craved to learn the Druí craft, but her father wouldn’t allow her to join their enclave. This might be the only chance she had to learn such mysteries.
She took a deep breath. “Very well.”
* * *
In the morning, Clíodhna decided she must travel to the village. She needed someone to help with watching the children. Donn had been of great help the day before, but if she would be out for a lesson half the day, she needed more reliable help. While Donn acted with consideration for his responsibilities, he was also a young man, and she knew he had his eye on Mugain as a future wife. He might wander off if he heard she’d returned early.
Instead, she decided she’d take that kind monk’s offer to teach them both. Perhaps she could also find someone to care for Aileran during that time. Elsewise, she’d have to bring the baby along on her lessons with Adhna.
She’d dreamt of Adhna all night. The dreams shifted from dangerous flights across the countryside, pursued by some amorphous, unknown danger, to sweet fantasies of making love under the full moon.
By all the gods, it had been much too long since she’d been with a man.
After putting that thought out of her head, she organized the farm for a day away with Donn and Etromma’s help. After greeting the dawn, she fed and cleaned the horses, cows, sheep, and pigs. She swept the house out but left any other cleaning to the evening. Etromma, despite being awake since dawn, still rubbed at her eyes and yawned. Perhaps she’d had a bad night after her encounter with the angry monk.
They trundled down the forest path in silence. Halfway to the village, Donn asked a question which had obviously been niggling at him. “Why are you bustling us out today?”
Clíodhna had prepared an answer for this, but it flew away from her memory like a startled finch. Instead, she stalled. “I thought you wanted to learn from the monks?”
He shrugged, his eyes on the muddy path. “It seems interesting. But I didn’t think you were so keen on the idea yourself. Now we’re being taken right away. Why the sudden change of heart?”
Clíodhna let out a deep breath. “I need some time to myself. I have some decisions I must make before the summer comes and thinking with the three of you in the house is nigh on impossible. Besides, learning skills will serve you better in life. I just hope they don’t require anything too dear for such lessons.”
Donn brightened up. “I can offer to do some work around their place for payment. Their walkway is muddy. I could find some nice, flat slate and pave it for them.”
“An excellent notion. We’ll offer that, and perhaps it will be enough, at least for a few lessons.”
That seemed to satisfy his curiosity and she breathed more easily.
When they approached the monks’ houses, Clíodhna noticed several of them in the garden. She craned her neck, trying to recognize the kind monk who had spoken to her. What had his name been? Odhrán. At least, his local name. What had his birth name been?
Clíodhna spied his brown curls on the far side of the garden, stretching his back. He noticed her and waved. After a brief discussion with another monk, he came toward them.
“Greetings on this day. Clíodhna, is that right? I don’t believe I caught the names of your children.”
“This is Donn, and Etromma,” she touched each one’s shoulder in turn, “And the babe is Aileran.”
“Well met, all of you. So lovely to see you again so soon! Have you come to take me up on my offer, then? To learn a bit of the skills I can teach?”
“We have. Well, at least they have. I can’t attend today, but I may wish to in the future.” Aileran began fussing and she shifted him to the other shoulder.
“And the babe? We have a young monk who is excellent with the babies and younglings. He’d be delighted to have another charge.”
Clíodhna swallowed back unexpected grateful tears.
He clapped, startling her. “Excellent! Let’s get you settled in one of the rooms. Donn, you look like a sturdy lad. Would you like to learn some carpentry skills? Brother Cronan is building a long table for the guest hall and could do with an assistant.”
Donn glanced at his mother, and she gave him a smile and a shrug.
“And what would you like to learn, lass?”
Etromma just ducked her head, uncharacteristically shy. Perhaps she feared a reaction like yesterday’s fiasco. Clíodhna asked, “Would you have anyone doing any cooking? I’ve taught her much of what I know, but my craft is basic.”
“Brother Éanna is skilled at making bread. Would that suit?”
Etromma smiled.
“Now, if I can take this lad from you, I can put him in Brother Manchan’s care. He tells stories to the young ones, tales of history and legend. Some are too young to understand the words, but his gentle voice puts many of them to sleep. He’s been fed recently, has he?”
“He has. Just before we arrived.”
“That’s grand, then. Now, run off and do what you need to do. Can you return just after midday? We normally run our services then, and the brothers will be done with their work for a time.”
Clíodhna glanced at the sun, judging how long she had. The day remained young, but in this cold season, the light didn’t last long. Still, it should give her enough time for Adhna to prove his worth. “I can do that. But you haven’t told me what you’d like for such lessons.”
He chuckled, a pleasant, round sound. “Let’s get the children off first, eh? Etromma, see that building back there, the one with the huge chimney? That’s the baking hearth. Run in there and tell Brother Éanna I sent you. And Donn, your lessons will be in the yard past that. You can’t miss the pile of wood and planks.”
They both scampered off to their assigned places and Odhrán turned back to Clíodhna. “You owe me nothing at all. I hope you don’t mind, but I asked a few people about you and your family after we spoke yesterday. You see, I heard about your husband’s disappearance. One of our missions is to help and support those in need, and you and your children, begging your pardon, seem in need. The labor of your family as they learn is payment enough for the skills we’ll teach.”
Skeptical, Clíodhna narrowed her eyes. She didn’t trust charity, especially in such genial form. However, his expression seemed clear of guile. She gave a reluctant nod and a relieved smile. “I thank you, Brother Odhrán.”
“I’m not a brother yet, as I’ve not yet taken my vows. You may call me simply Odhrán.”
“Then I thank you, Odhrán.”
Clíodhna grinned much too widely, echoing his own. The skin around his eyes crinkled most becomingly. She must remove herself from this man’s presence before she did something silly. With a backward glance filled with guilt at leaving her children, she left.
Her steps came unusually light and free as she walked away from the village. Ever since she’d married, duty had weighted her life, made heavier with each new child. For once, she had little responsibility, at least for now. In a moment of sheer joy, she skipped along the path, grabbed a tree trunk and whirled around it, laughing with childlike abandon.
A sound made Clíodhna halt, but no one appeared to spy on her indecorous behavior. A bird flitted from one branch to another, chastising her for being too close to its nest. She grinned again. She hadn’t been this giddy with delight since she’d been courting with Oisinne.
There had
been several men before him, but none had made her laugh like he did. His stories enchanted her, and she wanted to keep him forever, to entertain her for hours. He did that, she must admit. However, he began staying out hunting longer and longer as the care of the children grew more and more time-consuming. Eventually, he just never came back.
On alternate nights, she’d blamed herself, blamed the children, blamed the Fae, blamed the weather, and of course, blamed Oisinne.
Torn between the desperate need for a nap without children and the burning desire to learn from Adhna, Clíodhna passed her roundhouse and found her perch upon the viewing rock. Her erstwhile teacher hadn’t yet arrived, so she sat in contemplation of her river.
The calming rush of water lulled her into much-needed sleep, and she startled awake when Adhna spoke in her ear. “Are you ready, Clíodhna?”
She jumped up and whirled around, instinctively ready to fight, but the man chuckled. “Fear not, child. Remember my vow; I will not harm you.”
Her heart pounded within her chest, and her temper flared. “Those may be the words of your vow but frightening me into falling off a rock isn’t directly harming me. I’ll be just as dead on the rocks below, though.”
He cocked his head, still with a half-smile on his face. “I wish to help you, Clíodhna. This will go much easier if you accept that basic truism. If not, this lesson might well be wasted.”
Setting her jaw, Clíodhna forced herself to calm down. Being prickly would just make more trouble at this point. With deliberate silence, she sat cross-legged, folded her hands, and waited.
He blinked twice. “Wonderful. Now, the first lesson is to tell you about the power you’ve been pulling on. You may already be aware it’s part of the land itself. You can draw upon the essence, the life-force of the land. It can be refreshed, and changed, depending on the will and strength of the person manipulating it. You’ve been pulling it in and then just letting it dissipate. While this isn’t harmful to the land, it can fray your own soul if you do it too much without purpose.”
Age of Druids: Druid's Brooch Series: #9 Page 3