Age of Druids: Druid's Brooch Series: #9

by Christy Nicholas

  He glowered at each of them, but when he returned his gaze to her, his eyes narrowed. “Have a care yourself, my Queen.” These last two words he hissed with exaggerated care. “The people you care about do not all live under your protection.”

  Before she reacted to his obvious threat, he vanished. She bolted to her feet. “How can he do that in my very court? I thought none could perform such magic in my seat of power?” She turned to Adhna in question, but he shook his head.

  “Bodach still has great power, my Queen. I warned you of this. A defeat in battle didn’t diminish such power, not by a considerable degree. He just sent you a very strong warning and a very real challenge.”

  She sat back on her throne, the chill in her blood surging. Etromma, Donn, Aileran, Rumann, and now Odhrán. They all remained unprotected. Sure, she had Grian’s assurance and whatever protection she might offer but her power remained severely limited in the mortal realm.

  She drew in a deep breath. “I must go back, Adhna. I must protect them.”

  His eyes turned sad. “You remember you can only go back once, right?”

  Clíodhna closed her eyes and bit her lip. “I remember. Many winters have passed, and I need to see my children again. I need to do what I can.”

  “I have some advice, if you will heed it.”

  She raised her eyebrows, awaiting his suggestion.

  He cleared his throat. “When you return, live alone for a time before you seek your family out. Living in Fae is… habit forming. The mortal world can be a shock.”

  While shaking her head, Clíodhna clenched her fists. “I need to go back to protect those I love, Adhna.”

  “I can protect them for a while longer. Go to a place on your own for some time. Work the favor Grian asked of you. Otherwise you may make mistakes you cannot fix.”

  She recognized the wisdom in his words. “Very well. Thank you.”

  Grimnaugh cleared his throat. “What about your throne, my Queen?”

  She glanced around the great hall. Only a handful of courtiers remained. Her petitions had grown fewer once she fought with Bodach, as many of the incursions had been from his loyal followers. “I will appoint a Regent while I’m gone. I will return, hopefully soon.”

  She glanced at Gabha, and then at Cerul, who stepped up next to the War Chief. “Will you two be willing to work as co-Regents in my absence? You should be able to send messages to me if needed, but I trust you both to have the common sense and strength to withstand pressure from the likes of Bodach.”

  With a glance to the other Fae, Gabha nodded. “I will serve as you request, my Queen. May we keep your assistant, Grimnaugh? Much of the court etiquette is a mystery to all, but he seems to be the key to each detail.”

  She grinned down at the frog-like Fae. “Will you help my co-Regents, my friend?”

  “Only if you promise me one thing, my Queen.”

  “If it’s within my power to grant, it’s yours.”

  “When you return, may I leave the court?”

  She felt like he’d punched her in the gut. “Are you so unhappy in your position? Have I mistreated you?”

  He held up his hands, and his eyes grew wide. “No, no, my Queen! You’ve been kind to me. But I need a rest. The events have worn me out, and I must be away from the court for a while. I shall return, but not yet.”

  “It seems we both need a rest. Very well. I so grant your leave. And you, Adhna? Will you ask for leave as well?”

  He nodded. “I tire more easily than before my ordeal, my love. But I must come with you to the mortal realm for your task. You are still in need of teaching.” His eyes twinkled at the last, and she returned his grin.

  * * *

  The world looked unchanged and different at the same time. After so long in Faerie, the mortal realm seemed muted and mundane, filled with mud and bugs.

  As per Adhna’s suggestion, Clíodhna set up a small shelter near the beach, not too far from the shore where she grew up. The small roundhouse proved sufficient shelter from the summer storms, and she spent some time reliving her youth. Her body had grown older with aches and pains in the mortal world, but her time in Faerie and the seashore invigorated her spirit.

  She’d always reveled in being alone. Despite her longing for male company, she spent her days swimming in the salty sea. Eventually, some larger residents, dolphins, came to find who swam in their realm. Their chittering inquiries sounded incomprehensible to her, but they would play with her in the waves. They offered no judgment, no intrigue, and no danger. They demanded nothing from her but her laughter, a wage more readily gifted each day.

  Years of worry and stress slipped away as she swam with the dolphins.

  As she healed her own soul, she healed the ocean. Adhna, before he left, showed her what she must do to correct the sickness. Human waste from such a large community of men poisoned the water below, and it harmed the sea life. She couldn’t destroy the waste, but she could disperse it into the wider ocean, diminishing its harmful effects. He vowed he’d return when she needed to return to Faerie.

  One day, she noticed the dolphins sporting among the higher waves as a storm angled across the horizon toward the shore. The churning water brought shoals of fish, and the dolphins feasted on these. Once she figured this out, she would bring small storm cells whenever her dolphin friends came near, giving them a proper feast during their visit.

  After all, proper Gaelic hospitality demanded such efforts, did it not?

  After a few such meals, one dolphin pushed his soft-skinned snout under her hand. She patted him, but he did it again. Intrigued at what he wanted, she cocked her head, wishing she spoke their language.

  The dolphin moved until her hand touched his fin, and when she gripped it, he chittered. Taking this as approval, she put both hands on it and, with tentative bravery, mounted the dolphin like a horse.

  As soon as she did so, the dolphin chittered again and leapt up, pulling her along. He swam with strong strokes into the crashing waves, up and over, again and again. At first, terrified, she held on for dear life. Then, when she realized he just took her for a thrilling ride rather than trying to drown her, she laughed in delight.

  From that day, their visits held more structure. She brought up a small storm to churn up a meal, and the dolphins took her on rides across the waves. Sometimes they took her to small islands dotting along the coast. Other times, they took her out into the wide, empty ocean. She saw some massive whales now and then, and other dolphin pods. A few sharks might come close, but her dolphin friends poked their gills to make them go away.

  There came a day when she didn’t look forward to swimming with the dolphins as much as she had. Clíodhna realized the time had come to seek her family. With great reluctance, she said goodbye to her maritime friends, and began her trek inland.

  As Clíodhna tramped along the flooded path towards her village, she reflected that perhaps she should have arranged for a horse.

  She chuckled at her idea. A horse? How grand had she become now? She’d never needed a horse to ride into the village in the past. Her time as Queen had spoiled her, so it had. She held her chin high as she strode into the center square.

  No one she met looked familiar. One woman’s face tugged at her memory, but she didn’t recognize her when their eyes met.

  She should first visit the blacksmith. Etromma would be there, married to Tirechan. Did Tirechan’s father still live, or had the boy taken over the trade? She’d find out soon enough.

  Clíodhna wondered when Adhna would join her but felt glad she could return alone. It would do her little good to arrive, unaged, with a stranger by her side. Finding her children and convincing them she was their mother might be difficult enough. He agreed with a reluctant nod and would wait for her in the cave near the standing stones.

  By following her nose, she found the acrid smell of the blacksmith’s forge. Black smoke billowed from the fire, rising into the sky like a beacon. The hammering of iron made her flin
ch. She must be sensitive to the substance now, like other Fae. She’d have to be cautious what she touched.

  After taking a deep breath against her fears and fighting the urge to flee as a coward, she walked to the roundhouse and peered into the doorway. It stood open to catch the breeze on this warm summer day. The interior seemed dark and empty. She made her way around the back, where the blacksmith toiled at his work.

  The tink, tink, tink of his hammer almost became a song, a chant she sang under her voice. Find me now. I am here. Find me now. Would Etromma have changed much? How many children did she have now?

  A youngish man, his chest stripped bare and covered in soot and sweat, stood over the anvil. His hammer tapped on a red-hot ingot, shaping it into something long, like a sword. She cleared her throat to get his attention.

  He glanced up, noticed her, and nodded once. “I’m almost at a point I can stop. Bide a few moments and I’ll be right with you.”

  The young man concentrated on his work, doused it in a barrel, and then hammered a few more bits. He dunked it again, billows of steam pouring out of the water. After examining his work more closely, he nodded and put it aside, along with his hammer. He grabbed a piece of cloth and mopped his face before pulling on a light linen léine.

  He held his hands out to her, palms up. “I welcome you to my hearth. What do you seek?”

  She placed her hands over his in greeting. “I come seeking information for one of my kin. Do you know a woman named Etromma?”

  The blacksmith’s face broke into a smile. “You seek my mother? I’m afraid she’s far away, in the north. She moved to be near her brother.”

  Clíodhna swallowed her disappointment and her delight. “In the north?”

  “Oh, yes. The church sent Donn up there to complete work on the cathedral, and Etromma went along to help care for him after Da died.”

  “Tirechan died?”

  The young man nodded. “Aye, about two winters past. Trampled by a horse on a trade journey.”

  “I’m so sorry. Oh, I forgot to introduce myself! I’m Clíodhna.”

  His eyes grew wide. “Clíodhna? That’s Etromma’s mother’s name.”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  He backed up a few steps, his hands out. “You couldn’t be. You’re too young. She died winters ago. Are you… are you a spirit?”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “No, of course not! I never died. I went away for a while. What’s your name, lad?”

  He visibly swallowed and his eyes darted toward the roundhouse and back to her, but he gathered enough courage to speak. “I’m called Pátraic.”

  The name punched her in the gut. “Like the Abbot? Does he still live here?”

  “He just came back, after winters traveling around the country, yes. Uncle Donn asked Ma to name me for him. They call me Pátraic Óg, to tell us apart.”

  Clíodhna chewed on that knowledge for a while before asking, “And Aileran? Does he still live near here?” Had Adhna even told Etromma or Donn about Rumann? Maybe Aileran still lived nearby.

  Pátraic Óg’s shoulders drooped and he stared at the ground. “He died many winters past, Ma said. A fever took him in the night.”

  Clíodhna couldn’t breathe. Her lungs wouldn’t work and her knees turned weak. She stumbled toward the log bench next to Pátraic Óg and sat upon it.

  While covering her face in her hands, she tried not to give in to the tears. Not here, not before her grandson, a young man already grown. Aileran, dead. Etromma and Donn, in some far away county. In the north? Should she travel there to find them?

  She looked up, her face streaked with unwanted tears. “Have you heard anything of my youngest son, Rumann? I’m not certain if Etromma knew of him.”

  His face lit up. “Rumann? But of course we know of him! I didn’t realize he’s your son, though. He lives in a roundhouse near the bend of the river. He has a wife and several sons, though most are still children. Rumann works as a fisherman along the river. Would you like me to take you there?”

  A tiny bubble of hope grew in her heart. She didn’t want to frighten it or burst it, so she clamped on the burgeoning joy until she met Rumann.

  Pátraic Óg offered his hand. She accepted it and he drew her to her feet. He closed the door on his furnace and banked the edge of the fire before they left.

  The path seemed half-familiar, but the foliage looked different. How many winters had she spent in Faerie? A dozen? More, if Rumann had grown, with a family of his own. Twenty? Perhaps that much, at least. He would never remember her. Adhna had taken him to the mortal realm before he could crawl. What would she have to do to convince him she was his mother?

  As they traveled down the half-familiar path, her own home, the roundhouse and clearing in the bend of a river, came into view. Rumann lived where she had raised her family. The notion made her heart warm, and the small bubble of hope burst into something stronger, something magical and intense, despite her determination to keep it small until she knew for certain.

  Two young boys played outside. The younger one, perhaps about seven winters old, looked the very image of Adhna, his dark hair tied back with a thong. Both looked up as they approached.

  Pátraic Óg shouted toward the roundhouse. “Rumann! Rumann, I brought you a visitor.”

  Clíodhna held her breath as a man came through the door. His dark brown hair unkempt, but his belly well-fed, he glared at both Pátraic Óg and herself. His voice querulous, he crossed his arms. “Well? Who is it?”

  After swallowing her disappointment, Clíodhna stepped forward, her hands out in greeting. “Rumann, you may not recognize me, but we’ve met before. Sure, you would have been much too young to remember me, but I’m—” She caught her breath before she continued. “I’m your mother.”

  Rumann continued to glare at her, but the boys, who had been watching this drama unfold, both gasped. The youngest one ran into the roundhouse, fetching several other boys and a thin woman with reddish hair. The woman looked Clíodhna up and down with a sour expression and strode to stand next to Rumann. She clutched his arm, staking her claim over her husband. “Who’s this, then?”

  Clíodhna turned to Rumann’s wife, whose face seemed familiar. Had she known her before? “I’m Rumann’s mother. He’s not seen me since before he could crawl. Are these your children, then?”

  Arrayed behind the couple stood three boys, ranging from the youngest brown-haired boy she’d first seen to a well-grown youth of perhaps twenty winters. They all stared at her with varying degrees of curiosity and judgment. That youngest boy, the one who looked most like Adhna, peeked out from behind his mother’s skirt, his eyes wide.

  The woman narrowed her eyes. “His mother, eh? First, you’re barely older than he is. How can you be his mother? And if you are, where in God’s good name have you been all these winters? He’s not seen hide nor hair of you since he was a babe, as you say. Why should we believe you?”

  This would be the hard part. How should she convince these people of her kinship? She glanced at the roundhouse. “I lived here, before Rumann came. My eldest, Etromma, married the blacksmith’s boy. Then came Donn, and sweet baby Aileran. Aileran would have been barely older than Rumann.”

  Rumann let out a short bark of laughter. “He had ten winters more than me, woman. You should get your facts straight before you try to muscle your way into this family.”

  Four winters? Then she remembered the time she’d spent in Faerie, the time away from Aileran, and realized her mistake. “Well, four winters is a small difference, compared to the gap between Donn and Aileran. Let’s see, when Etromma had fifteen winters, Donn had thirteen. That’s when Aileran came. I bore you five winters later, a twenty-winter span in total.”

  Doubt crept across Rumann’s angry expression. He glanced at his eldest and turned back to her, his eyebrows raised. “You’re too young to have birthed such children.”

  Clíodhna flashed him a wide smile and shrugged. “I married young and have
been living by the sea for many winters. The ocean air does wonders for one’s skin.”

  He glanced sidelong at his wife. “What are your thoughts, Mugain?”

  Mugain gave him a bare shrug and a rueful half-smile.

  Chapter Twelve

  Clíodhna’s family accepted her and welcomed her into their home, albeit reluctantly. She promised to help care for the children and the housework, an offer which Mugain accepted. Clíodhna finally remembered where she’d known Mugain; Donn had been hoping to wed her so many winters ago. Donn had pursued his life with the Christians rather than take Mugain to wife. Instead, she’d married Donn’s youngest brother. She must be at least twelve winters older than her son, but at least she’d given him several children.

  It took a while longer for the children to grow comfortable around her. The eldest, a tall young man named Éanna on the cusp of manhood, with broad shoulders and dirty blond hair, gave her only sullen looks and sidelong glances. It would take a while for him to lose his suspicions.

  The middle child, Niall, seemed biddable enough, though he grew quiet when she came near. He had his mother’s red locks, and aged perhaps two or three winters older than his younger brother, Fingin.

  The youngest child remained the shy one, with dark wavy hair so similar to Adhna’s. He seemed a poorly grown eight winters old, thin and pale. He fished with his father but exhibited little confidence in the activity.

  Clíodhna, used to be in charge of her own household and then being Queen in Faerie, chafed at being the good-mother, a tolerated presence, barely heeded nor honored. Her own son turned out to be the worst offender, berating her for exercising her own freedoms.

  That first morning, she rose before the dawn, as she had during her mortal life. After so much time in Faerie, she had looked forward to greeting the sun and basking in the warmth and beauty of the sunrise. She climbed her favorite hill and sat cross-legged on grass wet with morning dew. After drawing in a deep breath, with tendrils of earth power, she thrilled as the familiar energy flowed through her body. In and out she breathed, drawing in the power and releasing it, centering her soul to her spot on the mortal land.