Age of Saints: Druid's Brooch Series: #7

by Christy Nicholas

  His nose tingled with a strong scent and he smiled in delight when he recognized the shoots of wild garlic. He dug one up, disappointed to find no bulbs yet. Spring would yield a tasty crop, but for now, the plant would offer no food.

  Wrinkling his nose, Conall scanned the ground for other herbs, but nothing green grew nearby. Almost by accident, he noticed the rosemary behind him. With a grin, he harvested several of the woody stalks, bundling them together and placing them at the bottom of his sack. He sat up, despite a twinge in his hip, and brushed off his hands, ready to find more winter bounty.

  A fat hare flicked across his path, its gray-brown fur blending into the forest floor so well, he thought he imagined the movement. He made a note to set snares, as the meat would be a welcome respite to dried venison.

  A raven cawed in the distance, making Conall rush back to the roundhouse. He cursed himself for leaving Lainn sleeping alone. What if someone entered the building and found her asleep and alone? He scrambled up the bank, slipping several times until he abandoned all caution and used his magic to push himself up the bank. The wave of sickness made him bend over and cough, spitting up as he ran the rest of the distance.

  The bird perched on the corner of the repaired thatch, wings spread, but Conall saw no one around. A quick check inside proved Lainn still slept. Conall frowned and checked the night basket. Only his own waste remained there. The stewed fruit remained near her.

  Such a sleep might not be natural. Conall knelt next to his sister, apprehension growing within his heart. He put his hand in front of her mouth, and her breath warmed his hand, which reassured him. Next, he shook her shoulder. Gently at first, he increased his efforts when he elicited no response. “Lainn? Lainn, you need to wake up. Wake up, now. Wake! Lainn! Please, wake up.”

  Rawninn cawed several times, flying into the roundhouse and swooping in circles. Conall flung his arms over his head. “Stop that! Go away!”

  A moan from Lainn distracted him from the bird, but she still hadn’t woken.

  The raven landed on the shelf, picking at a turnip. A single bee buzzed into the roundhouse. Conall watched as it circled the interior of the roundhouse, flew near the raven, and then came toward him and Lainn. He didn’t understand why the raven didn’t eat the bee but instead cocked its head as if listening.

  The bee circled above Lainn’s head several times before landing on her ear. Worried about the bee stinging his sister, Conall leaned closer to see the insect. It appeared to move its legs several times, but he couldn’t make out much more without better light. Suddenly, Lainn gasped, and her eyes flew wide open. Startled, Conall sat back and barely avoided Lainn’s head as she sat up. Her eyes darted around, flickering to each dark shape in the roundhouse, to Rawninn, to Conall, and to the still-open door.

  A cold breeze brought in the scent of rotting leaves and fresh rain.

  Lainn’s eyes grew wide as she turned to Conall. Her voice sounded a hoarse whisper, almost unrecognizable. “He’s coming. He’ll find us.”

  “Shh, we’re safe here, Lainn. He wouldn’t c-c-come this far.”

  She shook her head with violence, the braid beads clacking discordantly. “He’ll be here soon. We must leave! The bee told me.”

  Belatedly, Conall glanced around for the insect but saw no trace of it. “You had a bad dream, Lainn. Here, let me help you to the night basket. You must be bursting.”

  She allowed him to help her to her feet, but her eyes continued to flick at every movement, nervous as a cat. When she finished, he made her sit and eat.

  “Pack the food, Conall. We don’t want to lose what we’ve gathered.”

  He rolled his eyes but it would do less harm to humor her. Packing the food wouldn’t hurt it. Wasted effort, but it kept her calm.

  Everything fit into both sacks and her small bag. They’d only been in the roundhouse for a few days at most. Time seemed to meld together as he tried to remember. Without the daily routines he’d lived with all his life, he lost track.

  A loud crack outside made him jump. Suddenly, Lainn’s dream-fueled fears didn’t seem so ridiculous. He scrambled to grab both sacks, flinging the larger one over his shoulder. He grabbed his brat and tugged on his boots. Lainn did the same, and then scattered the remains of the peat fire. Acrid smoke filled the small roundhouse, making them cough and choke. Rawninn squawked and flapped his wings in chastisement.

  Terrified that Sétna had found them and that they’d just given away their location with their coughing, Conall sought Lainn’s hand and squeezed it tight. They held all their earthly belongings on their back and waited, frozen in fear, as the unmistakable sound of crunching leaves grew inexorably closer.

  Chapter 7

  Crunch. Crunch. Pause. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Conall held his breath as the person approached. His chest burned and he let it out again. He drew another with a shudder and flicked a quick glance at Lainn. She appeared pale, but that could be the weak light and the peat smoke, or it could be due to her two-day slumber. Whatever the cause, her lips looked set into a grim line.

  Conall drew upon the brooch’s magic, pulling up the power through the brooch, down into the earth, and up through his feet. The power made his hands and fingers tingle with anticipation. He almost imagined he could see a slight glow, a dim spark underneath his fingernails. He stood ready to do whatever he must to protect Lainn.

  The shadow darkened the doorway, cutting off most of the light. With a mix of relief and disappointment, Conall realized this couldn’t be Sétna. The tall, thin frame was a far cry from Sétna’s hefty belly.

  The stranger didn’t mean safety, though. He peeked at Lainn and saw the same mixture of emotions cross her face. She remained as stock still as he did.

  As Conall’s eyes grew used to the darkness, he could pick out a few details. The man held a tall walking staff, a stout oak branch carved into the head of a wolf. He wore warrior braids and a thick fur brat. His bushy, black beard almost hid his scowling face. His low, guttural voice jabbed into the darkness. “Y’ don’t belong here.”

  Conall swallowed. “M-m-my apologies, we’ll leave now. We meant n-n-no harm.” He hefted the second sack and pulled on Lainn’s hand, hoping the man would move from the doorway so they could escape.

  The man glanced up to where Conall had repaired the thatch, and his eyes narrowed. Conall inched closer to the door, Lainn silent behind him. “Please, we’ll just go.”

  The intruder grunted and shifted to one side, leaving them enough room to slide past. Conall ducked and writhed his way out, Lainn slithering afterward. Once clear of the doorway, they ran as best they could away from the roundhouse, into the woods, and to the west. Neither even looked back, worried they’d see the hunter following them.

  As Conall’s hip screamed in pain, he pushed farther until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. He slowed, but Lainn kept running. Conall panted, “Lainn! Lainn, wait for me. I have to rest just a b-bit.”

  She slowed, glancing over her shoulder in nervous worry. “We’re not far enough away. He’ll come. He’ll find us.”

  As he caught his breath, bent over with his hands on his knees, he furrowed his brow. “You said those words when you woke up. What did you mean? Was it a dream of Sétna coming for us? Or something else? That wasn’t Sétna back there.”

  She shook her head and said nothing, but the fear hadn’t left her eyes. They seemed feral, startled at every natural noise in the surrounding woods. “We can’t stay. We can never stay. He’s coming.”

  Her voice had changed. No longer the carefree tinkling of bells when she laughed. Now she spoke low and flat, inflectionless. It chilled Conall more than the winter wind to hear his sister speak thus. With a look over his shoulder to ensure they were, in fact, alone, he straightened his back and took three steps. When he stood directly in front of his sister, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “I c-can’t pretend to know what’s going through your mind and your heart, Lainn. I don’t know what happened to you these last
few days. All I know is that I’m here to keep you from harm. That’s my duty and calling. Do you understand me? I won’t abandon you, and I won’t let anyone take you.”

  A glimmer of his sister’s soul shone through her eyes, but it disappeared. The furtive glances returned, making him sigh and close his eyes. He drew her in for a strong hug, not letting her go even when she stood unresponsively. She melted into human form and hugged him back.

  When he let her go, the glimmer was back. Not strong, but recognizable. He even coaxed a half-smile from her lips. He returned it with a full grin of his own. “Now, let’s go forward. We may have lost the roundhouse, but thanks to your t-timely warning, we have our food.”

  She took a deep breath as they walked down the path. “I didn’t know why we needed to pack, I just knew we did. The darkness came closer, and I could feel it, but it took Barnabus to rouse me to action.”

  “Barnabus? Was he someone in your dreams?”

  “No, silly. The bee. Remember? Adhna introduced us.”

  He gave his sister a sidelong look. Perhaps her dreams had stolen her wits. He remembered Adhna’s story, just a fancy tale. The old man was full of ridiculous stories meant to entertain.

  They walked in silence. He didn’t wish to disturb any fragile belief she might have about the random bee and didn’t think it mattered much. Let her believe it had been one of Adhna’s bees. Such a delusion did no lasting harm.

  The crunch of ice and leaves beneath their feet became a marching rhythm as they walked the path. Bare trees reached skeletal arms above them, sheltering them from the frigid sky. Dark clouds chased white clouds, changing the temperature of the air as they danced. The path continued to wend through the forest, slowly creeping to the west.

  Once, they passed a large clearing with a cluster of several farmhouses to their left. However, smoke seeped through the thatch, and the pungent odor of farm animals and burning peat assured them the houses were well-occupied. They traveled on.

  The river no longer marched beside them on the path, but Conall spied a hill in the distance. This might be the same hill Adhna told them of, Uisneach, or it may not. He couldn’t tell. The mists covering the top of the hill revealed no details. While Lainn didn’t want to take chances with the druids, that might yet be their only chance now. His earlier reluctance had given way to concern over their ability to survive. Perhaps they would at least give them some supplies for the winter. He doubted they even had the right hill.

  The path rose, and his muscles ached. He wished they could stop, but now Lainn had purpose and energy. Few things would get in her way when she stayed determined. They’d only stop when they found a place to stay the night.

  He studied his sister. She’d changed over the last few days. No longer the adorable little sister, she stood tall as a young woman in her own right, though she counted but sixteen winters. Her confidence remained mercurial, flitting between unstoppable and nonexistent. His own remained artificial.

  He dug the heel of his hand into his thigh, wishing the ache would ease, even for a little while. He stumbled a few times as the path grew rocky and the trees fell away. Soon they climbed into the fog, dark gray the only thing before them. Up, up they traveled, into the misty mystery.

  Conall only saw the gray swirling fog in front of his face. His sister’s form faded in front of him. The darkness swayed back and forth with each step in her boy’s swagger. The faint click of the beads in both their braids was the only other sound to penetrate the mist, as all other sounds disappeared. Dank, musty fog filled his nostrils. Conall wished he knew what happened to the raven when they fled the roundhouse, but he hadn’t seen Rawninn since.

  Several bare hawthorn trees grew from the gray as they passed, reaching for them with emaciated fingers. A bare touch from one made him flinch and shiver, silly though the reaction seemed. He stumbled over a small ridge in the land; an oddly even line of demarcation. Perhaps someone had built a wall there centuries in the past. Now it remained a lump in the ground.

  A dark shape loomed beyond Lainn’s fading figure. As it coalesced in the mist, it resolved into a huge pile of stones. Conall caught his breath, certain they’d found Uisneach. The stones piled atop each other, reaching twice his own height, shaped almost like a sitting cat watching a mouse.

  Every part of his body urged him to run far away, faster than he’d ever run before. His skin crawled, and the back of his eyeballs itched.

  His bones screamed at the stone. It screamed back. A woman’s voice dripping with rage and longing settled into his blood.

  He ran to Lainn and pulled her back just as she was about to pass the stone.

  “Conall! What are you doing?”

  “Don’t pass that stone, Lainn.”

  She furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about? It’s just a stone.”

  He gazed at the figure, mist still clinging stubbornly to the crevices. “No, it’s not just a stone. It’s anything but ‘just a stone’. Can’t you feel it? You’re the one with druid training. The thing is…alive. Dangerous. It’s screaming at me.”

  She glanced back at the stone and studied it for several moments. She turned pale and clutched Conall’s arm, her fingers digging into his skin. “The stone is moving. Breathing. Why would it be breathing, Conall?”

  Fully expecting the cat to raise its head and blink at them, Conall pulled Lainn backward, step by step, until they’d reached a small ridge in the land. Once the fog swallowed the stone once again, his heart stopped skipping.

  “Conall, what was that?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to know. Did your training give you any hint of such a thing?”

  She shook her head, her eyes still glued to where the stone hid in the mist. “Nothing. But I’m only one season into my training. Most of my education has been memorizing tales and listening to nature. Stone work is at least sixth season.”

  “Stone work. Simple words.” He shivered, a reaction that had nothing to do with the cold fog caressing his skin. The stone’s screeching had faded from his mind, but it lingered in the shadows. The wet kiss of the morning suffocated him. He needed to be elsewhere.

  Conall took Lainn’s hand and drew her away. Not south the way they came, nor north toward the haunting stone, but to the east, along the low land ridge. As he breathed the thickening mist, he grew more panicked, needing to escape the smothering damp. His breath grew more labored as he hurried along the ridge, praying for escape from the enduring shriek within his mind. The stone pulled upon him, dragging his will back to its seductive danger.

  With a wrench of determination, he shut that part of his mind away, into a hollow pocket. He kept his aching grief for his father in such a pocket and the guilt for leaving his mother.

  The ridgeline cut off, turning into a stone-lined path, dense with packed earth from the feet of many travelers. The path led north once again, but well past the menacing stone.

  With a glance at Lainn, he placed one foot upon the path. His hip spasmed, but that single step eased his pain. Lainn’s pale face grew more peaceful as she trod in his footsteps.

  Peace and joy suffused through his legs and into his heart as he walked along the bare dirt path. No ice formed upon the path, though it sparkled on the hawthorn bushes to either side. As the ground rose and they climbed to the summit, the pain and fear slipped away.

  Just as a shaft of sunlight burned through the mist, they reached the top of the hill. A low, stone wall built upon a rampart encircled a large area. Two large roundhouse roofs peeked over the rampart, but no smoke filtered through the thatch. Conall smelled no livestock, no fire, no midden. The enclosure remained still and silent as the sun bathed it in the preternatural glow of mid-winter morning.

  The massive wooden gates stood open, one barely attached to its pole. A slight breeze rocked the gate, the creak loud in the strange silence.

  Gripping Lainn’s hand, Conall walked within the rampart, senses alert for any sign of life.

  The two
roundhouses had seen better days. Like the one in the forest, they both needed serious care and maintenance. A large fire in the center hadn’t been lit in many seasons. A pile of brush and trash lined the edge of the rampart, shoved by the wind to the corners.

  Lainn took a deep sigh. “Do you think anyone else will come? Can we rest here?”

  “I think so. Which roundhouse should we t-try?”

  She glanced at both and pointed to the one on the left. “The smaller one. It will be easier to heat with a fire.”

  His mouth in a grim line, Conall nodded. He took out his belt knife and approached the roundhouse with careful steps. Lainn walked around the exterior of the building as he entered with caution, nostrils flared for any odors and ears searching for any sound.

  Lainn’s cry made him dart back outside in an instant, only to find her chuckling with her hand over her heart. “Just a rabbit. Nearly frightened me out of my wits.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “That’s p-p-presuming you had your wits, to begin with. I’m fairly certain I left mine back at home, days ago.”

  She let out a short bark of laughter and shook her head. “Did you see anything inside?”

  “You didn’t give me a chance, did you? You and your rabbit.”

  Despite the interruption, Conall’s heart beat slower, at peace with himself and their situation. The roundhouse grew welcoming, warm, and comforting.

  This in itself concerned him. Why would a strange, cold, deserted roundhouse be like home? Why would he wish to go inside, despite all he understood of the dangers? The sentiment made no sense, and thus remained suspect.

  He gripped his bronze knife until the swirled designs on the hilt bit into his fingers, motioned Lainn to remain behind him, and walked into the roundhouse.

  Like the one in the forest, few things remained inside. Broken bits of shelf and pottery littered the floor. Dirt and leaves had blown in, swirling and rustling in lonely eddies. The musty odor of neglect permeated the room.