Misfortune of Time: Druid's Brooch Series, #6

by Christy Nicholas

  Airtre stared at her again. Bressel put his hand on Airtre’s arm. “We can’t burn her here, Airtre. Not on the cross. It would damage the stonework.”

  “Then why did you bring her here?”

  “To get the crowd’s attention. We must move her.” He glanced around until he saw an old ruined roundhouse, the thatch long since rotted away, at the edge of the square. “There, use one of the supports to that place.”

  With a sigh, Airtre tossed the bundles back into the cart. “I do wish you’d make up your mind, Bressel.”

  “Did you really think I’d burn a holy high cross? Airtre, I’m shocked.”

  Airtre didn’t answer, but grumbled as he pulled the cart.

  Even the brief respite as they transferred her to the roundhouse pole wouldn’t be enough for her to regain her energy or replace her clothing. She remained exhausted and ill from so much magic the night before and the panic today. Struggle as she might, Bressel and Airtre were still too strong for her, and the crowd simply observed. Some appeared sympathetic, but none moved to stop the men from their supposed justice.

  Bressel placed several bundles around her feet. She kicked them away until he smacked her head so hard it bounced against the stone cross, and she momentarily blacked out.

  When she came to, she looked at her husband, hoping to find some sympathy in his eyes.

  Étaín hadn’t taken a good look at her husband before this. He’d grown much older, of course, than when she’d last seen him. He seemed to still be in relatively good health for his age. Airtre walked more slowly, with a pronounced bend in his back. Still, he hadn’t been ensconced in the monastery next to a fire. He still ventured out on missions. Perhaps he was too ornery to die.

  Why should she worry about Airtre? Why should she care how he had aged? She had shut herself of him and his beatings a lifetime ago. Still, when she’d left him, he must have felt betrayed and abandoned. He exacted his revenge upon her for that betrayal. She recalled the savagery of his rage, so many years ago. Had anger burned away every shred of humanity?

  Étaín heard a cry from somewhere, but couldn’t identify the source. Might it have been Odhar’s voice? Maelan? The chief from the hillfort? Anyone would do, as long as they stopped this terrifying farce.

  Even though lifting her head and opening her eyes grew difficult, she forced herself to focus on the figure running down the hill. It appeared too small to be Maelan, too fast to be the older Odhar. Female, it must be female. Liadan? It must be. Who else would come running?

  Liadan, alone? Étaín almost wished for anyone but the younger woman. A woman, even one as physically powerful as Liadan, had little power against such as Bressel and Airtre. She might delay the burning, but she couldn’t stop the inevitable. She might even get caught up in the frenzy herself if things went horribly awry. Étaín tried to cry out, to tell Liadan to stay away, keep herself safe. Maelan needed her. Maelan loved her, and she seemed good for him. She had strength and would be a perfect mate for her grandson.

  At least Étaín had passed on her brooch. Adhna had been right to insist. Of course, if he hadn’t insisted, she wouldn’t be in this village, about to be burned as a witch. For a frantic moment, she considered the possibility that it hadn’t been Adhna in her dream, but instead a twisted sending from Ammatán, tricking her into this impossible peril.

  Bressel had finally cajoled Airtre into piling the rest of the wood around Étaín’s feet. She might welcome the warmth, as she now shivered uncontrollably from her nakedness in the chill winter air. The snowflakes melted, leaving goosebumps and wet butterfly kisses on her skin.

  Liadan had finally made it to the square, panting and flushed from her headlong run. “Stop this… madness… by command of… the chief!” She bent over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath after her statement. Bressel stopped momentarily, looked at her as if she was a stick insect, and continued to light the fire under Étaín’s feet.

  Liadan pulled her short sword from her scabbard and stepped so close to Bressel their chests touched. She held the tip of the blade under his chin, angled so that the slightest movement would pierce under his jaw and into his throat. Her voice was no more than a menacing whisper. “I said… the chief… said to stop!”

  Airtre glanced up, a flicker of relief in his eyes, but Bressel shoved the warrior woman aside. “May the devil split you open and then sew you up with a harrow pin! He is not my chief, woman. This is church business, and he has no authority in this matter.”

  Liadan staggered away and brought her sword up. She was a powerful woman, but Bressel was a tall, solid man, and more than her match in strength. She stood at the ready, her eyes flickering to the hill fort.

  Two more figures ran down the hill. It appeared to be two men this time. Liadan stood, waiting for her reinforcements.

  The sparks flew as Bressel got the wood burning beneath her. She didn’t feel her feet from the cold. Would she thaw enough to be burned by the flames? Her teeth chattered so hard, she thought her jaw would crack. The Fae laughter which haunted her tickled at the back of her mind, ready to burst loose with furious vengeance and ferocious lunacy. Ammatán’s voice echoed in the laughter, braided with the terrible voice of the Faerie Queen. Étaín could no longer fight against the power of his madness as it shoved against her sanity.

  Liadan grabbed the abandoned léine from the ground near the cross. She tried to drape it around Étaín, but Bressel shoved her away. “No interference or you will join her as a devil sympathizer!”

  Liadan set her jaw and brought her sword up. “Mind your tongue, churchman. Do you think I will hesitate to skewer you?”

  Étaín shoved down the inner voices and found her own words. Though only a whisper, it reached the younger woman. “Don’t, Liadan. It’s not worth it.”

  “I’ll be damned in hell if I let this man burn you, Étaín.” She turned to the crowd. “Are you going to let this happen? Are you going to let these men,” her sarcasm dripped on the final word, “kill this woman in a horrible ritual, without proof? Without a proper trial? Without the approval of your chief? This is your village! Take it back! Don’t let this happen in your home! What has this woman ever done against you that she deserves this?”

  Uneasy murmurs passed through the crowd. Aes and Rognr stepped forward. Étaín glanced desperately at the hillside, but the two figures were still distant.

  With her hands on her hips, Liadan chided the rest of the crowd. “Well? Will you stand up for yourselves? Or are you mice?”

  Aes walked to Étaín and pulled at the knots around her hands. Airtre stepped in front of him, but the big smith just shoved him down. “Stay away, old man. I don’t wish to hurt you, but I can’t let this happen.”

  Airtre stayed down. He glanced at Étaín and perhaps she saw a glimmer of apology in his gaze.

  Rognr stood in front of Bressel, preventing him from approaching. “You will go no farther, churchman. I am not afraid to stop you.”

  Bressel drew himself up, full of self-importance and menace. “You will be excommunicated for your insolence, fool!”

  Rognr’s laughter boomed across the square, making others laugh nervously in response. “I am no Christian to cower in fear from your God on a stick, church man! I honor Odin and Frey, gods with true power. Now back away, or shall I ask the smith to teach you the power of Thor?”

  Bressel looked like he had swallowed a hammer.

  Aes finally loosened her knots, and Étaín crumpled to the ground. She had no strength to stand. Liadan bundled the léine around Étaín.

  Odhar and Maelan arrived just as Aes hefted her into his arms.

  Liadan cried out, “Keep them here! We’ll get her safe.”

  Odhar nodded and he, Rognr and Maelan arrayed themselves like a wall against Bressel and Airtre, daring them to follow while Aes and Liadan escaped with Étaín.

  Shouts and blows rang out, but Étaín couldn’t see the clash. She listened to the fading noises and hoped her loved one
s escaped unscathed.

  With quick steps, Aes brought her to the roundhouse beside the chapel. “What do you need? Liadan, pack her things. There’s a safe place in the hills.”

  Maelan’s wife held Étaín’s bag, rescued from near the cross. “Bring clothing, food, drink. A cloak. Her herbs are already in the bag. What else will you need, Étaín?”

  Her brooch, she needed her brooch. No, she’d given it away. It belonged to Maelan now.

  After so many lifetimes of escaping with little notice, this time she felt naked and vulnerable without her brooch. “Nothing, I need nothing else, except Odhar.”

  Liadan nodded. “Aes, where are you taking her? I’ll make certain Odhar makes it there when it’s safe.”

  “To the stones on the hill.”

  She nodded sharply. “Go, now. Take the back path, around the hillfort, so those odious men can’t see. I’ll make certain he makes it.”

  She wanted to protest. She wanted to wait for Odhar, for Maelan, for Rognr. Her new friends, her family, her loved ones. Those who had put their lives in danger to save her own. Such people were rare and to be treasured above all material wealth.

  Étaín had no strength for such a protest. Why couldn’t she move? She’d become so utterly exhausted. Perhaps she would just sleep. Sleep amongst the laughing Fae.

  * * *

  When Étaín woke, she shivered. Where had they brought her?

  Beneath her, the ground had frozen hard, but she touched crunchy grass, brittle with hoar-frost. A form loomed large and black above her. She shrunk back, afraid of Bressel with his heavy hand, but it didn’t strike her. She discerned a massive Faerie stone, standing tall and stern against the misty evening light.

  Aes must have carried her here. She had a flash memory of the night before when Maelan had taken the brooch. The brooch remained safe in his hands. She had done her duty, and the precious legacy would be safe for another generation. With a sigh of relief, she relaxed against the freezing grass. Where had Aes gone?

  He shuffled out of the tree line with an armful of wood.

  “No, no fire, Aes. We mustn’t light a fire.”

  “What? What are you talking about, woman? Has this turned you mad? You are chilled, and you need the heat.”

  “They’ll see the fire. They’ll find me here.” She shivered again, whether from fear or cold she didn’t know.

  He laughed, the sound oddly muted against the fog. “They can see nothing in this. You are safe from the eyes of humans, Étaín. The gods have shrouded us in safety and mist.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I thought you hadn’t decided about the old gods?”

  His laughter died as he frowned. “If your Christian God allows such cruelty in the name of good, he does not deserve my belief. I prefer the honesty of the old gods. They don’t pretend to be all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-good.”

  Étaín couldn’t argue with his logic.

  Noises in the brush made her sit up, scanning the ground for someplace to hide, but the sound resolved into a single, welcome form—Maelan.

  His expression seemed both bleak and worried. His brow had deeply furrowed.

  “Étaín? Grandmother? Were you hurt at all?”

  She shook her head. “I am just tired, Maelan. They didn’t hurt me.” She looked over his shoulder. “Where is Liadan? Odhar? Rognr?”

  He bowed his head. “Liadan and Rognr stayed behind, but they are safe. Odhar… Odhar is still below.”

  As if summoned by his name, the monk struggled into view. Blood ran down one side of his ashen face. He took a few staggered steps with a look of hopeless entreaty upon his face. He fell flat on the dew-wet grass beside her.

  Maelan shook his head. “I told him to stay with Liadan!”

  Étaín struggled to sit up, but Aes pushed her back down. “Odhar!”

  “Hush, woman. I’ll see to him.”

  The Ostman knelt by the monk. Odhar didn’t move, and Étaín didn’t dare breathe. He’d made it up the hill, so he must be alive. How could he simply die when they had the rest of their lives to look forward to?

  When Aes looked up and shook his head, Étaín’s heart grew cold.

  She sat up and instantly regretted it. Her entire body protested such sudden movement, and she fell back on the ground.

  She struggled to crawl closer, getting close enough to pull his head into her lap. His neck had gone deadly limp. “No, no, he can’t be gone! What happened to him?”

  Maelan shook his head, refusing to answer. Étaín saw his eyes glittering bright with sorrow, but she didn’t want to believe it.

  Aes glanced at Maelan, who shook his head. “He… he tried to stop Bressel from running around me. Bressel shoved him aside so hard, he fell. His head…” Maelan stopped to swallow. “His head hit the bottom of the stone cross in the market square.”

  “His head… he hit his head?”

  Maelan nodded, taking her hands. “Liadan tried to stop the bleeding, but his skull had cracked, Étaín… Grandmother… we could do nothing. I thought he’d stayed below, but he must have pushed past them both to come here… to you.”

  Aes placed something warm and hard in her hand. The hag-stone. Odhar must have retrieved it from Bressel. Étaín stared at it, trying hard to push past her grief to remember what the stone could do. Plants. It could help plants grow. She glanced at Odhar, knowing the only magic she now possessed would do her love no good at all.

  After so many lifetimes led, and so many loved ones lost, Étaín didn’t think she could mourn any more. However, her many lifetimes had also taught her people did die and needed to be mourned. She swallowed against the stricture on her heart and the lump in her throat. She wouldn’t succumb, not yet.

  Étaín had looked forward to a lifetime of happiness with Odhar, her last lifetime. It seemed like cruel fate to rip that small reward from her so abruptly. She’d lost loves in the past. This, however, would likely be the last. Her brooch had been passed on, and so she’d lost her magical youth. Odhar might have been her final love. Her brief, shining, final love.

  Her tears were gone. Odhar didn’t deserve tears, he deserved happy memories. She’d had practice holding onto those memories like precious gems, taking them out and admiring their sparkle and shine. She carefully stored each of those precious memories into her mind, for future use.

  More precious than the gold or silver of any Faerie brooch.

  She placed her hand on Odhar’s already cooling shoulder. It didn’t feel like him. His body had been vibrant and vital, even in his older years. This had become a cold thing, a sheath empty of his very essence. She prayed to all the gods she knew he would find peace in his paradise.

  The pain grew so strong, it ached in every part of her body. Still, the pain made her human. Without the ability to feel pain, one cannot truly live.

  Aes had started a small fire outside the stones and picked Étaín up to place her nearby. Then he walked into the circle.

  Aes murmured under his breath in a singsong chant, asking the stones for surfeit. He begged for help in what form the gods decreed. Étaín wanted to object to such a wide appeal. Who knew what might answer him?

  Still, she had little call to complain. They had saved her from an agonizing death. She squeezed her grandson’s hand, grateful he remained alive and unhurt.

  “Liadan… keep her safe, Maelan. She is a proper match for you.”

  He chuckled. “She’s better at keeping me safe. Her strength is one of the things I love about her.”

  “Good. I’m happy you found a worthy wife, my dear grandson.”

  The light flickered. With a glance at the fire, Étaín realized the flame hadn’t changed. She glanced into the sky and saw small green sparks against the black stones. Echoes of the sparks danced across the heavens, humming and swirling like oil in water.

  Maelan saw them and stood, eyes darting madly. “What have you done, Aes?”

  “I called for help. Help is coming.”

  His
head swiveling this way and that, Maelan stood in a battle stance, his spear suddenly in hand. “Help? What do you mean, help? What have you done, Aes?”

  “Relax, warrior! Here she comes.”

  Étaín looked to where the Ostman pointed. There, on the hill, stood a glowing female figure. Her skin shone blue and her hair midnight black.

  Flidaisínn had come for her.

  As she walked closer, Maelan made the sign of the cross with three fingers and prayed under his breath. The Fae girl frowned as she got closer and halted.

  Étaín pulled herself into sitting position. “Maelan, stop that. She won’t harm you.”

  “She’s a Fae! A daemon!”

  “Yes, of course, she’s a Fae. No, she’s no daemon. She’s saved my life in the past. I suspect she’s about to do so again.”

  Frowning, at least Maelan stopped muttering and making crosses. Flidaisínn gave him a half-smile. “While I appreciate your desire to protect our dear Étaín, handsome warrior, do please put away your iron spear. I need to help her to heal now.”

  “Help her to heal?” He looked from the Fae to his grandmother.

  “Yes, heal. Her efforts last night, in giving you the brooch, completely drained all her power, and she’s not used to having no brooch to renew. This morning’s antics did nothing to improve her situation. Now be a good little warrior and back away? I promise, I mean no harm to her, on my honor as a Fae of Queen Medb’s Court.”

  He blinked several times, glanced at Aes, and backed away. However, he kept a close watch on the Fae as she approached Étaín.

  Flidaisínn frowned. “You have been through much, Étaín. Will you allow me to touch you?”

  Étaín nodded. If only she could stop being so weary, she didn’t care what the Fae did to her.

  The Fae placed her blue, cold hands on Étaín’s heart and closed her eyes. Blue-white light glowed around her hands, and soon infused Étaín’s entire body. The fire which shot through her blood grew agonizing, and Étaín cried out.