He ignored her vitriol and put his hands out, palms up, a gesture of welcome. Clíodhna glared at him a few moments more, still wanting to vent her wrath on someone, but his logic penetrated her ire.
Adhna must have seen the shift in her eyes. He wrapped her in his arms. Clíodhna cried then, sobbing against his shoulder as he hugged her tight.
All the frustration, anger, and helplessness she’d felt for the last days came crashing through her body. She let all the emotion flow into him until she felt like a wasted husk devoid of all humanity. When she’d calmed down to mere whimpers and sniffles, he looked at her again.
“What can I do to help now, Clíodhna?”
She rubbed at the snot on her face, wishing the rain would come back to clean it. With a mighty sniff, she let out a shuddering breath. “You might take Oisinne’s madness away.”
He didn’t need to reply. The answer came clear in his face, his eyes even sadder than they had been before. “I might calm his rantings for a while, in Faerie. But here in the mortal world? I don’t have that power.”
“Who does?”
He shrugged. “Other than my Queen, I only know of one Fae who possesses power over madness. And you don’t want to ask any favors of Bodach. You’ve already run afoul of his greed and temper once. I don’t recommend a second encounter.”
After clenching her fists, she screamed toward the sky in her frustration. Clíodhna beat her palms against the slick, wet standing stones until they ached. When she quieted, Adhna drew her into his arms again. “Let me come down to the house with you. Maybe I can at least calm him. It won’t be a permanent solution, but it may give you a few days of peace.”
Numb, she rested her head against his chest for a moment of comfort. The muddy path back down the hill, slick with the rainstorm of her own sorrow, grew more treacherous as they approached the roundhouse. She slipped a few times, but Adhna caught her, keeping her from falling.
As they came into the clearing, Adhna still held her hand in the crook of his arm. Oisinne watched from the doorway. His eyes glimmered with anger.
“So, this is what you leave me for? To couple with a stranger?”
She held her hands up, glancing around to see if Etromma or Donn were in sight. They must be in the barn, safe from his anger. “This is Adhna, husband. He’s a friend, nothing more. He’s been teaching me—”
Her husband stalked toward them, jealousy in every line of his body. He clenched his fists so hard, the knuckles showed white. Thunder played across his face. “How dare you call yourself my wife!”
Adhna dropped his grip on Clíodhna’s arm. “Oisinne, pray tend to me. You will not hurt this woman.”
He swiveled to face the Fae. Without warning, Oisinne rushed Adhna, his shoulder dropped low to attack his midriff. Adhna stepped aside, unflustered by the assault.
Oisinne slowed when he encountered nothing, turned, cocked his head, and staggered a few times, as if drunk. He glowered and lowered his shoulder to strike again.
While chanting in an ancient tongue, Adhna raised his hands, the sleeves of his léine dropping back to reveal inked serpents along his arms. Oisinne paid this no mind but ran toward his opponent.
By the time he reached the Fae, though, his pace slowed and his head bowed low. A few more stumbling steps and he crumpled into a heap at Adhna’s feet.
With a cry, Clíodhna knelt next to her husband. “What did you do? Did you kill him?”
Adhna held out his hands, palms down. “He is well enough, Clíodhna. At least, as much as he can be. I made him rest. He should be so for a few days, perhaps rousing now and then for food or drink. Even then, he’ll remain calm, as if in a dream.”
She swallowed. Her fear when he fell made her realize she still felt deeply for Oisinne, despite his madness. Nodding at Adhna’s information, she noticed Donn had peeked around the house. With a gesture, she bade him come help Oisinne into his bed.
When her husband slumbered under several wool blankets and tied netting, she returned to Adhna’s side. He had to leave, but she didn’t want to admit it. “What happens when he wakes? Will he remember what you did to him?”
“He will remember nothing of this day. That’s the best gift I can give you at this moment.”
She glanced back again. “Can you show me how to do that?”
He bit his lip. “I can show you how to muddle the memory, but it’s a dangerous tool. You must be careful not to do it too often. Sometimes the effects can become permanent, and it may backlash.”
After steeling her spine, she said, “Show me.”
The chant seemed simple enough, and she almost understood the words. They danced on the edge of comprehension, alien and familiar at the same time. But this magic wasn’t from the earth. The spell drew from air and water, to wash the ephemeral of memory away like a summer storm.
After she practiced drawing the power, he explained how to wield it, but once again cautioned her against using it frivolously. “Someday, when I return, I will teach you more.”
“Must you truly leave?”
He gestured toward the house. “If I remain, your husband will only get worse. For your own safety, I must go back to Faerie now. I will come back to check on you, but I cannot stay and teach you any longer.”
Her throat grew dry and she threw her arms around him. He clung tight to her, his fingers digging into the muscles of her back. Clíodhna didn’t want to let him go, and her blood chilled with both misery and despair.
Once they broke their embrace, he faded into the trees.
Chapter Six
The few days of peace passed. When her husband woke once again, he didn’t mention Adhna or his attack. He must have no memory of the incident. For this, Clíodhna thanked the gods.
She had little else to be thankful for.
Mornings were chaos. She tried her best to wake before Oisinne. Donn helped her tie his ropes each night after he slept and untied them in the morning, so he remained unaware of his bonds, but sometimes they failed, or he awoke in the night. When this happened, his rage knew no bounds. A black eye became the least of Clíodhna’s injuries when he vented his anger on her.
At least so far, though, she’d been able to deflect his anger from the children. Once or twice, Oisinne pushed Donn or slapped Etromma, but they learned how to escape the house before his fury rose to physical violence. Etromma grabbed Aileran on her way out. The baby crawled fast but got little chance to explore when his father rampaged.
Clíodhna remained to try to calm her husband, and to keep him from chasing them down. He paid her in a currency of bruises and lacerations. So far, he’d broken no bones, but her ankle had twisted trying to back away from his blows.
Despite the painful limp, her only escape became long daily walks in the forest. Oisinne didn’t care for walking in the woods. He’d rather stew at home. He didn’t even go out hunting any longer. Instead, Donn would fish or trap small game while Etromma hunted for larger prey. Clíodhna tended her garden but would sometimes walk with Etromma as her daughter tracked her prey. Clíodhna almost felt a glimmer of freedom.
When she returned, she would receive more blows, but at least she’d found a few hours of peace.
Oisinne insisted on going into the village to listen to the monks each dawn.
Some mornings, he behaved almost human. He would greet other villagers, people he’d known most of his life, with pleasantries and small talk. Oisinne might compliment the Abbot on his words that day, or comment on the progress of the new great hall they built. He might even link his arm in Clíodhna’s, the very picture of a happy couple. Other mornings, life became less bucolic.
Clíodhna opened her eyes to the cool pre-dawn darkness. Oisinne snored evenly beside her, still asleep, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Rising, she removed the knots that held him in place. Donn joined her efforts when she’d gotten half of them done. Just as she untied the last one, Oisinne jumped up, his eyes darting around with wild suspicion.
Without warning, he kicked her in the knee. Pain shot through her leg and she dropped to the floor, trying hard not to cry out. Donn took Oisinne’s arm and led him to the table, throwing a concerned glance over his shoulder. Clíodhna reassured him with a wave of her hand and gripped her knee. The pain already receded, so it must not be a break. The quickness of the blow had been unnerving.
She hobbled to the table, pulling out the cheese and bread for their morning meal. At least he’d gotten the same leg she’d already twisted.
Etromma went out the door into the dawn to milk the cows, Aileran on her hip.
Oisinne stared at the flatbread in front of him. “Clíodhna! What is this you’re feeding me?”
“Rye bread, Oisinne. And here’s some soft garlic cheese to spread on it.”
He flung the bread on the floor and stomped on it. Then he scooped his fingers in the cheese and smeared it on his face. He laughed with maniacal glee and smeared more on her face.
Clíodhna debated trying to use the spell Adhna had taught her but remembered his cautions. She should only use it in need, not for convenience. After clenching her jaw, she wiped off the wasted cheese.
He hopped around and said, in a sing-song voice, “Time to go to church!”
With a glance at the rising sun and a promise to honor it when she had time, Clíodhna hustled her husband out the door. With luck, Etromma and Donn could escape today’s service and have some quiet time to themselves. They’d get a lot more of the farm work done without their father interfering. He often made things worse by trying to help.
The sun had barely shot out rays of peach-gold light from behind the hills when they arrived at the small church. Only a few people already stood inside, but she cast a smile at Ita, who stood with two of her children. Her neighbor frowned, glancing at Oisinne, and Clíodhna didn’t blame her. The morning had already started poorly and Clíodhna anticipated a rocky day. She answered Ita’s frown with a sad shrug. Her friend steered her pregnant daughter to the other side of the church.
Abbot Pátraic stood at his dais. After his Latin chanting, he didn’t launch into his normal lecture. Instead, he stared at several of the villagers, his gaze lingering long on Clíodhna.
“It has come to my attention that several people have been consorting with evil.”
Each attendee exchanged glances, as if wondering whom he spoke of. Clíodhna, however, stood stock still. She knew, somehow, the Abbot spoke of her.
“Spirits and creatures of evil inhabit the woods and streams of our village, and trafficking with them is against the good words of our Lord God. He forbids such interactions, upon pain of being unworthy of God.”
Now he glared straight at Clíodhna. She steeled her spine and glared right back.
Forgotten by his wife, Oisinne let out a high-pitched giggle and jumped toward Pátraic. Startled, the Abbot drew back, but his attacker didn’t strike him. Instead, he stood upon the altar, shoving the candlestick to the floor. Pátraic cried out and dove to rescue his precious silver candlestick. This allowed Oisinne time to dance on the table, and pull his léine off over his head.
Now naked except for his leather boots, he raised his arms as if offering a supplication to the gods. He let out a deep peal of laughter, something ominous and dark. The sound bounced from the walls and several of the villagers milled around with nervous anticipation. A few escaped through the door, while others looked on with gleeful expectation of what Oisinne might do next.
Clíodhna wanted to pull him down and drag him home, but she stayed rooted to her place.
Her husband spun around a few times, the small altar rocking under his weight. He leapt down and ran outside, still with no clothing on. Clíodhna, finally able to move, hurried to catch him. Someone laughed with a nasty cackle as she ran outside.
The mist had risen with the sun. Golden beams of light made her naked husband almost glow as he sprinted through the village, pointing at each roundhouse when he passed, shouting out nonsense words and imprecations.
Heads poked out of each house at his passing. Some returned to their homes, while others emerged and chased after Oisinne.
What should I do? How can I catch him? He’s much stronger than me and I can’t run as fast with my injuries. Besides the harm that might come to my baby. Her hand strayed to her stomach.
As she considered her options, a hand gripped her arm. Clíodhna swung around to confront this new threat and came face to face with Abbot Pátraic.
“You are the reason for his condition, Clíodhna. Your own infidelities caused this, and consorting with the evil that lies beneath the hills. God has spoken, and you are being punished for your crimes against him!”
Several of the villagers had gathered around them and heard his accusations. A couple murmured agreement, though a few frowned at his harsh words.
Clíodhna drew in a deep breath. “You know nothing about me and my family, Abbot Pátraic. I suggest you pay more attention to your own affairs.”
“Every person in this village is my affair, woman! I will not have your wastrel ways infecting honest, God-fearing people.”
She laughed in his face, throwing her head back in genuine mirth. “Wastrel ways? What does that even mean?”
A crash from near the blacksmith’s roundhouse drew their attention. Oisinne had fallen into the water trough and splashed about like a toddler in a pond.
With a final glare at Pátraic, she limped to where Oisinne had fallen and drew him free of the trough. The blacksmith helped her, a reassuring pat on her shoulder. He whispered in her ear. “My grandda acted like this for a while. He regained his senses after a few moons. Take heart.”
Tirechan, the boy who Etromma had been moon-eyed over, came with a large blanket. “This should keep him covered until you can get him home.”
She gave thanks to both and extracted her husband from the judging eyes of the onlooking villagers.
Oisinne slept most of that day. His bouts with madness exhausted him, giving his family some break after dealing with his rampages. At least this time he hurt no one else.
After she’d cleaned and dressed him, and gotten him to sleep, Clíodhna relaxed to feed Aileran. However, a shadow in the doorway made her glance up, only to see Ita looking nervous and tentative. Her gaze flicked to Oisinne mumbling in his alcove, turning under the ropes, before she spoke.
“Clíodhna… have you been unwell?”
Rolling her eyes, Clíodhna flicked her hand. “Not me. Oisinne, definitely. I’m tired, that’s all.”
Her friend crossed her arms. “We’re all worried about you.”
Clíodhna pursed her lips and regarded Ita with a steely expression. “About me? Or for me?”
Casting her gaze to the ground, Ita fidgeted with her fingers. “Both? You’ve been acting so odd lately. And Oisinne… I remember he used to be calmer.” Her friend reached a hand toward Clíodhna’s face, where the latest bruises ached. “His hand has grown heavy, as well.”
Clíodhna batted Ita’s hand away. “Oisinne is out of his mind. No sane man runs naked through the village. I’m handling it the best I can, but any changes in my behavior must pale against his, don’t you think?”
Her friend gave no answer but stepped into the roundhouse and sat cross-legged in front of the central hearth. Ita blinked a few times in the gloomy interior and peered at Oisinne. “Is he like this all the time?”
Relenting, Clíodhna shook her head. She poured two mugs of ale and joined her friend, handing her one. “No, sometimes he acts almost sane, but still a shadow of his former self. It’s safer and easier to keep him here, away from people, but he insists on going to your church each morning.”
“The Abbot has been making complaints of you.”
“Of me? Not of Oisinne?”
“Yes, of you. You and your… well, he calls them a ‘legion of fornicators,’ but he means lovers.”
Clíodhna burst out laughing. “A legion of fornicators? He cannot be serious.”
Ita s
ipped her ale and her expression grew solemn. “He is, and he’s convincing several of the village elders that they should deal with you.”
With a scowl, Clíodhna stopped laughing. “Deal with me how?”
After glancing out the empty doorway and once again toward Oisinne, Ita whispered, “He’s planning to attack the forest spirits.”
“He’s planning what?”
“You heard me! Don’t make me raise my voice. He’s gathering up a group of villagers, armed with farm tools, and he’s intent on clearing out the Fae and spirits from the woods near the bend in the river. They’re to start tomorrow morning.”
Clíodhna rose to her feet so quickly, she knocked over her ale. With a grumble, she bent to mop the mess up. “Tomorrow morning, huh? We’ll see about that.”
“You mustn’t interfere, Clíodhna! That’s why I came, to warn you. It’s a trap. He knows you’ll come to help, and he wants to catch you in the act. That way, he can accuse you as a sorceress.”
“A sorceress? I don’t know that word.”
“A woman who consorts with daemons, according to him. A person filled with evil. Someone who will corrupt others into evil.”
Rage and anger rushed through her veins. How dare this man come to her village and accuse her of such things? Clíodhna closed her eyes, trying to draw peace from the earth. “Ita, how many winters have you known me?”
With a shrug and another sip of ale, Ita said, “Fifteen, sixteen? Ever since you got married and moved here.”
Clíodhna leaned against the table, her back to Ita. “In all that time, have I ever done anything evil?”
She shrugged again. “I don’t know, Clíodhna. For a while, some people thought you’d killed your husband. He disappeared so suddenly… well, you know how rumors work.”
Throwing her hands in the air, she whirled around. “Well it’s obvious that was a lie, isn’t it? There he is, right over there. Mad as a hare, but very much alive! I swear, Ita, while I admire your honesty, sometimes too much isn’t a good thing.”
Ita shrank back from Clíodhna’s anger, bowing her head to contemplate her mug and the splash of ale left inside. “I didn’t say I believed the rumors, Clíodhna. Just that they existed. I’m trying to help.”
Age of Druids: Druid's Brooch Series: #9 Page 13