* * *
After they ate their morning meal, Oisinne packed up the remaining food. He stuffed the dried fish in with the few rowan berries and a sliver of hard cheese. Next, Oisinne scooped the bowls into the iron pot. He turned to glare at them. “Well? What are you waiting for? It’s time to go home! Time to go! Time to go! Time to go!” He hopped around, examining the edge of the table, the central hearth glowing with coals, and the doorframe with equal intent.
After shoving down her annoyance at his arbitrary decision, and rolling her eyes at his silliness, Clíodhna reminded herself she’d had the same idea. She bundled her blankets into one big mass to tie on her back. Etromma and Donn exchanged a glance and gathered their belongings.
Once they’d packed everything and she nestled Aileran into his sling around her neck and shoulder, she gave the cavern a quick glance. Ishc the nuckelavee had never emerged again after Oisinne arrived, but she said goodbye to him anyhow. The trampled ground near the entrance and the charred ring of their fire remained the only indications of residence.
Oisinne danced around near the cave mouth like a manic pixie, the whites of his eyes glittering in the shadows. “Time to go! Time to go!”
She sighed deeply and followed her husband outside.
The day remained as misty as ever, but Oisinne guided them. She’d never traveled the path without Adhna leading her in and out of the mystical place. Etromma had said her hunting ventures didn’t find any familiar ground, but the path wended down the hill and into the forest below. The mist cleared as they got farther down, and her home came into view.
She’d half-expected a ring of monks to still be guarding the place, but after a moon, they must have given up and gone home. Still, relief flooded her when the clearing appeared empty. They walked into the roundhouse, dusty and achingly bare, and dropped their heavy loads. Clíodhna still hadn’t recovered all her strength from her magical battle with Bodach and her legs felt heavy after the downhill walk.
The roundhouse seemed smaller, somehow. Definitely not the warm homestead she remembered from last summer, before Oisinne had disappeared. Her life seemed so distended, unconnected, since then.
Memories of ringing laughter, tall tales, and ominous legends swam through her head. She’d been a part of Oisinne then. They had worked together as one, enjoying a strong love and friendship. She’d lost that connection, perhaps forever.
Clíodhna realized the flame of friendship she’d had with Odhrán sparked a similar vein within her heart. If he had been free to stay, she might have forged a strong relationship with him. Her dalliance with Adhna had potential but must continue separate as long as they remained student and mentor.
She silenced her musing with determined industry. Sweeping, clearing, organizing, all the things she needed done to get the farm back in working order. Someone had fed the animals and even milked the cows. Clíodhna suspected Adhna had arranged this. She must ask him when he returned.
Would Adhna return? With her husband home, the Fae might stay away from her. Unexpected tears pushed behind her eyes at the prospect of losing her teacher and companion. She swallowed them away and wiped the sweat from her face as she cleared out the soiled hay in the stable. High summer meant high heat.
Etromma’s querulous voice came from behind the roundhouse, but Donn’s lower tone reassured her. Though Clíodhna strained to listen, no sound came from her husband. He should still be in the roundhouse, arranging his sleeping area.
A cry cut through her thoughts. She ran into the house, only to find her husband ripping his wool blanket into shreds.
“Oisinne! What are you doing?”
His eyes had grown wide and wild. He clutched at the scraps of the fabric like they held his life’s blood. “It’s evil! Evil, I tell you. It tried to eat me!”
She snatched the remnants of cloth from him, wondering if he’d found faerie mushrooms. “Don’t be ridiculous! It’s wool. How could it possibly eat you?”
Like a cat, he batted at the dangling scraps, trying to grasp the ends. Clíodhna held them out of his reach. What had happened to her laughing husband? He acted like a crazed fiend.
Clíodhna backed away, still holding the wool strips, and tucked them from sight. Oisinne calmed. He sat on the floor, cross-legged, and rocked, humming to himself without a tune.
After swallowing hard, she fetched some food from the shelf for Oisinne. A bit of cheese, dried fish, a flatbread. Placing it before him, she studied his actions. As he noticed the food, his rocking eased and then stopped. His hand shot out to snatch the dried fish, nibbling on it like a squirrel. He swayed as he ate, humming in that same monotone.
Steps outside made her spin to confront a new problem. She caught her breath, recognizing Abbot Pátraic.
“It seems the rumors held truth. I’d learned your husband returned. I came to welcome him to our church.”
Clíodhna didn’t dare move. She hadn’t forgotten the Abbot had tried to take her children. Were Etromma and Donn safe? She glanced at Aileran’s bed, where he slept. Donn’s chuckle filtered through the wattle and daub walls of the roundhouse and she breathed again.
Oisinne rose shakily, and extended his hands, palms up in welcome. All signs of madness disappeared as he became the consummate host. “Welcome to our home. I offer you bread and ale. Will you stay and sup with us?”
The Abbot watched for a few moments before placing his hands over Oisinne’s and shaking his head. “As much as I would like to, good man, I must refuse this time. I would be honored if you came to our service on the morrow, just at sunrise, though. Please, bring your family, and join our community.”
The words held more command than suggestion.
Oisinne grinned in a feral show of teeth. “That sounds delightful! We shall be there as the sun rises.” He turned to Clíodhna. “Do you know where we must go?”
Numb, Clíodhna nodded, keeping her eyes on the Abbot.
Pátraic beamed at her husband and opened his arms wide. “Excellent! We shall see you then.” He shot an inscrutable glance at Clíodhna, the only time he acknowledged her presence during the confrontation and left.
She turned to Oisinne, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Husband? Are you interested in his services? I’ve attended a few times, and much of it is in some strange language. Then he tells a few stories from his homeland and offers prudish advice.”
Oisinne’s grin deepened. “Stories! I’ve always loved stories.”
He strolled out of the roundhouse, whistling out of tune. Clíodhna had no idea how to react to this new person. Once he had disappeared down the path to the river, she rushed outside to assure her of her children’s safety. Etromma and Donn still worked next to the stable, feeding the pigs. She let out her breath in relief.
Donn raised his eyebrows. “Did you see the Abbot?”
Clíodhna set her lips in a grim line. “Yes. Did he speak to you at all?”
Etromma glanced over her shoulder. “We saw him coming and hid in the hayloft. He poked his head in, but we covered up well.”
“How did I raise such smart children?”
Donn cast a glance toward the river. “Speaking of children, is Da well? He’s been acting strange. Well, stranger than normal. He looked at me this morning as if he didn’t recognize me.”
Clíodhna looked in the same direction, frowning. “I’m not sure, Donn. I’m just not sure.”
The next morning, Clíodhna walked into the village with apprehension. She clutched Aileran tight to her breast. He whimpered, and she relaxed her grip. Donn and Etromma held hands and walked close to her. Oisinne rambled back and forth across the forest path, exclaiming with wonder at each new flower or bush he found, as if he’d discovered a tree with leaves of sunlight. His childlike delight would have been wonderful in a boy of six winters. For a grown man, the head of a household, it chilled her spine.
When they came to the abbey, she gazed at the complex. They’d added a new building since she’d last visited, high o
n the central hill. The thatch still green, it formed a long hall with a cross section on the end. Work continued on the walls, but it would be ready before the winter, from all indications.
Villagers trickled toward them and into the small church building. Perhaps the new building would be for services, as the old one burst at its seams now, with at least forty people stuffed into the small space. No one had room to sit any longer, so they stood and waited for the services to begin.
Abbot Pátraic walked to the table at the front of the church, dressed in a white, shining robe. He wore a mantle around his shoulders in heavy, brightly colored embroidery. Glints of gold shone with every gesture. Clíodhna had never seen clothing so rich. He chanted a song in Latin, and several of the villagers answered him on alternate lines. Clíodhna didn’t understand the words.
Within a few minutes, Oisinne began humming. The Abbot’s annoyed glares did nothing to silence him. He played with his fingers, moving them in complex patterns. When another priest began the sermon, Oisinne swung his arms back and forth, like a child just discovering how heavy his hands felt. He hiccupped.
Glares came from the villagers and the Abbot. Clíodhna put her arm around her husband. “Oisinne, be still. We are guests here and should listen quietly.”
He hopped a few times from foot-to-foot, but at least he stopped humming. Etromma and Donn both looked as if their father’s company horrified them.
When the service finished, Clíodhna tried to rush her family out and away from the church, but the Abbot came straight for them. He held out his hands. “I’m so glad you took me at my word, Oisinne. I trust you enjoyed the service?”
Her husband cocked his head, as if listening to some new birdsong. His mouth twisted up at the corners with a feral twinkle in his eye. Pátraic must have taken this as assent. “Good, good. I am so glad you came back to your family. They sorely needed some firm guidance, I’m sure. With you in charge, they’ll fall back into moral habits.”
Clíodhna gritted her teeth. At that moment, she had an incredible urge to punch that smarmy smile off the Abbot’s face, shove Oisinne down a dark hole, take her children, and leave this judgmental village once and for all. As if I need a man—any man!—to tell me what to do!
Instead, she took a deep breath, gave the Abbot a polite smile, and turned away. Clíodhna didn’t trust herself to speak, but at least she could appear polite, for now. One day, though, she would make that man pay for his insults.
As they made their way back through the woods to their home, Oisinne ceased humming and stared at a gnarled oak tree. He’d stopped dead still in his tracks, and Clíodhna almost barreled into him.
“What are you doing?”
He cocked his head as he had earlier. “This tree wants to tell me something, but I can’t understand the words. They must be in some other language. Do you think that lad back there could translate for me? He speaks another language.”
She pressed her lips together while Etromma and Donn exchanged a knowing glance. “Abbot Pátraic spoke a language called Latin. It’s from his homeland in Rome, far to the south. I don’t think the tree will speak the same language, Oisinne.”
Clíodhna pulled his arm to move him along toward home, but he resisted. “The tree wants to sing to me, Clíodhna! Can’t you hear him? He’s whistling in the wind!” Oisinne collapsed on the ground, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. His eyes teared and his face turned red.
With her children’s help, she yanked him to his feet. “Oisinne! The joke is over. Come home, now.”
He leapt up and swung his fist at her face. Clíodhna ducked in time, but he aimed his next punch at Donn’s stomach. Her son wasn’t as fast, and let out a pained grunt as his father’s blow connected. Donn doubled over while Etromma grabbed her father’s arm. Clíodhna reached for the other. This time, his fist connected, punching her in the eye. Etromma ducked low from a similar blow and used her legs to sweep his own from under him. He fell into a pile, a startled look on his face. Then he giggled, a mad, freakish sound that left him in tears.
No one else laughed.
Oisinne chuckled in random spurts as his family dragged him along the path to the roundhouse.
With much effort, they got him inside and into his sleeping palette. He still giggled wildly at nothing as she poured ale for him and made him drink it. Perhaps she could convince him to sleep and give them all a rest. The sun had barely reached noon and she’d already grown exhausted with this day.
He finally closed his eyes, though he continued to mumble and toss in his slumber. Etromma and Donn sat outside with her.
With a worried glance at the door, her daughter asked, “What will we do with him? He’s lost whatever senses he had left. Do you think the Abbot could cure him?”
Clíodhna let out a sharp bark of laughter. “That man couldn’t cure a cowhide with a vat of tannin. I don’t know, though. The village healer left last moon to her sister’s town in the north. No one’s replaced her.”
Donn bit at his lower lip. “I want to ask one of the brothers. He took care of the herb garden and might have some herblore. He’d fought in some war before he became a monk, and said he dressed a lot of wounds.”
Etromma frowned at her brother. “Dressing wounds isn’t the same as healing madness, Donn.”
He threw his hands up. “I know! I know. But what else we can do?”
Clíodhna chewed on the possibilities. A well, sacred to Brighid, the goddess of healing, lay many leagues to the east. However, getting Oisinne there without disaster might not be possible. What if they made the perilous journey and couldn’t find the well? Or found the well and it didn’t work?
Could Adhna help? His Faerie magic might cure Oisinne’s madness.
She clung onto that thin thread of hope as Oisinne cried out in his sleep, a screech that cut across her nerves like a knife.
* * *
Clíodhna sat in the stone circle, despite the freezing rain. Why was it so cold in the middle of the summer? The wind whipped her hair into painful snakes, so she tied it into a knot at the base of her neck. She clenched her jaw. Facing the sky, she opened her arms and called out, “Adhna! I have need of you. Please come to me.”
After the tenth repeat of this plea, someone cleared their throat behind her. She whirled, suddenly worried Bodach had answered her call instead. But there stood Adhna, his black hair shining in the rain.
Clíodhna ran into his arms, pressing up against his chest, surprised at how grateful she was for his steady warmth and sanity. The rain died as they embraced, and the sun chased the storm clouds to the horizon.
It had been six days since she’d resolved to ask him for help, and every day had become a further trial of her patience. The storms grew worse as her command had slipped. Raising two strong children didn’t prepare her for controlling an insane husband.
Three times now she’d had to resort to tying Oisinne to his palette to keep him from punching her. He flailed his arms at the slightest provocation, not recognizing his own family, insisting they must be strangers come to steal his stories.
Adhna’s embrace seemed warm and comforting. Clíodhna didn’t want to leave their luxury.
He held her at arms-length and studied her eyes. “You’ve not had an easy reunion with your husband.”
She laughed, a slight tinge of hysteria coloring the mirth. “That’s a bit of an understatement, lover.”
He frowned. “You must not call me that, Clíodhna.”
Her eyes grew wide. “And why would I not? We are lovers. It’s a fact. And you are my teacher, my mentor, and at the moment, my only hope.”
He glanced from side to side. “No place is safe from unwanted listeners, Clíodhna, even this place. I believe you had an encounter with one such—a Fae named Bodach? He spread tales of his meeting with you all through the Queen’s court.”
She shivered at the memory of the bark-skinned Fae. “He seemed a nasty sort. Will he come back? What would he want with us?”
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After shaking his head, Adhna caressed her hair. “I’m not certain. He seldom interferes with mortals, but you have magic. He’s drawn to power and must have felt your pull upon the earth.”
All the fears and frustrations of the last days came bubbling to the surface. She shoved his chest away. “Then why in the name of all the gods did you teach me earth power first? He might have hurt my family! I fought him off but fell ill for days with the aftermath! We might have all died!”
He placed both hands over his heart, entreaty in his eyes. “Clíodhna, I couldn’t know he’d sense those lessons! You must believe me.”
Clíodhna paced back and forth, the clouds once again gathering above her. She wanted to believe, but after days of keeping her temper in check around Oisinne, her rage had found an outlet. She wouldn’t rein it in yet.
“You left us open for attack and just went away! Where were you when we needed protection?”
“I had duties at the court of my Queen Áine.”
Her wrath morphed into an ugly jealousy. “Duties, is it? You lounged around in her arms while that Fae attacked us, is that it? Well, it’s obvious you don’t really care for me, otherwise you’d have set up some protections.”
She stomped out of the stone circle, but he grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Clíodhna! You truly don’t understand. I can no more disobey an order from my Queen than you can flap your arms and fly into the sun. It’s not even a matter of will. I’m physically unable to defy her. She needed me, and as much as I wanted to return to help you, I couldn’t.”
Clíodhna didn’t want to relent yet. Her fury still bubbled within her, and he remained her only viable target. “Then you might have warned me!”
With sad eyes, his shoulders slumped. “Should I warn you to steer clear of the winter winds? Or the stormy sea? I can’t prepare you for every danger that exists, as much as I’d wish to. Just like any parent, I must trust in you, my student, to learn how to survive. You have done well so far, and I am proud of you.”
She spat at his feet. “That for your pride, and that for your trust.”
Age of Druids: Druid's Brooch Series: #9 Page 12