Caledonia Fae 05 - Elder Druid

by India Drummond

  “Let’s go,” Aaron said to Tràth. “You, me, and Douglas. Ewain, the one who has Munro, said Douglas and I were the only ones who could give him what he needed, because we were bonded.”

  Tràth nodded. With a whisper, he released the air shield around them.

  Aaron turned to the others. “We’re going below. This might get dangerous. You may want to return to the Hall.”

  Lisle shook her head. “If Joy emerges, she may need help.”

  “We’ve decided to give Ewain what he wants. If we do, maybe he’ll let them go.”

  Griogair signalled for his people to move to the back of the courtyard.

  “What you’re proposing is—” Oszlár began, but with a brief incantation, Tràth took Aaron and Douglas’ hand and stopped time.

  The scene distorted, everyone frozen in mid-action. Aaron turned to Tràth, who was smiling. Every movement required effort. “You’ll get used to the sensation,” Tràth said, his voice sounding as though he spoke through water.

  “We should hurry,” Aaron said.

  Tràth laughed. “Why? We have all the time in the world.”

  Douglas shook his head. “This is too disorienting. Please don’t wait.”

  With a nod, Tràth relented. “Very well.” His eyes unfocused. “A few minutes should be enough.” Without releasing Douglas’ hand, he gestured in the air as though turning a page. “Don’t let go of me,” he said. “Moving against time is difficult, but as long as you hold on, we’ll be fine.”

  Aaron gripped tighter, cursing that his hands had begun to sweat.

  Tràth smiled and stepped forward. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” In truth, he did seem surprisingly at ease. Had the renewal of the bond with Douglas strengthened him, or did something else improve his control over his temporal flows?

  Tràth transported them to the moments before the keepers erected their shield of air. The trio walked to the entrance of the library and descended the stairs. Tràth kept them moving through the thick, cold air, which pressed against them like a heavy headwind.

  It felt as though hours passed before they reached the room where the Source Stone rested, but Tràth assured Aaron they had moved outside the time stream. They would appear, he explained, to arrive the same instant in which they left. When Tràth let go of Aaron’s hand, warmth flowed over him. The druids shivered hard with the abrupt change.

  Aaron staggered toward the Source Stone and rested his hands on the casing that housed it. “Ewain!” he shouted. “Release Joy and Munro, and I’ll give you what you need.”

  The Stone rose to meet him. The ground shook again, and dust showered down from the ceiling of the cavernous chamber. Joy must still be fighting, in spite of her fear. Aaron closed his eyes, trying to send calm and encouragement through their bond.

  He approached the Stone. Glancing back at Douglas, he said, “Come on. We have to try.”

  Douglas nodded, but Tràth appeared hypnotised by the overwhelming magic of the Stone. Aaron found it difficult to comprehend that he, a mere human, had grown accustomed to such a force.

  Sitting opposite Aaron, Douglas put his hands on the Stone. “Ewain can hear us?” he asked cautiously.

  Aaron nodded. He had no idea if Ewain watched them as well as listened to them.

  “What do we do? Feed it like always?” Douglas said.

  Aaron smiled. “Slow and easy as a Glasgow kiss.” The Scottish slang meant headbutt, and Aaron was gambling Ewain wouldn’t know the expression.

  The corner of Douglas’ mouth quirked into a smile, and he carried on the deception. “What if he doesn’t release them?”

  “We’ll just have to trust him, I suppose.”

  “All right,” Douglas said and closed his eyes.

  The cavern shook. Joy must have struck her prison walls with the artefact again. Keep going, Joy. We’ll meet in the middle.

  Aaron delved into the rock with his fingers and instead of feeding, he began to pull. The surface beneath his hands filled with tiny fissures. The top layer of the Stone turned to dust as power surged through Aaron’s body.

  Joy slammed against the orb once more with her artefact. Aaron sensed the heaving of her untamed powers crash against the Source Stone even while he and Douglas did their best to drain it. An earthquake rumbled in earnest, and the walls crumbled around them. Dust and debris fell, and the roar of a cave-in filled his ears.

  As the Source Stone cracked down its middle, Aaron sensed a rush of relief from Joy. They had to stop draining the Stone, or they risked destroying it. Had they done enough to save both her and Munro? He pulled back, and Douglas did the same, but the violent tremors did not stop. A chunk of stone fell from the ceiling, shattering on the ground nearby.

  “We have to get out,” Tràth shouted.

  Aaron nodded and stood.

  “What about the Stone?” Douglas said.

  “There’s still power in it,” Aaron said. “We’ll worry about repairing the damage when we’re sure Joy and Munro are safe.”

  He helped Douglas to his feet in the shaking room, and they headed to the entrance, only to find the stairwell had collapsed. He turned to Tràth. “We need your help again.”

  Tràth nodded. “Take my hands.”

  ∞

  Inscribing runes onto the small rocks drained most of the energy Munro had gained from the three doses of tonic. He’d needed to shape and bind them together, then map each of them to the Halls of Mist. He’d laboured feverishly, trying to ignore his worries about Ewain. Even if his portal worked, he had no idea what he was going to do with the elder druid once they reached the Halls of Mist. Ewain wouldn’t fit in, but what choice did they have? Once again, they’d adapt. If he didn’t want to go to the Druid Hall, what kingdom would want him? On the other hand, what kingdom would refuse the Father of the Sky? No, it would be better to bring him in as one of the Hall. He might be obnoxious, anti-social, and with a dubious moral compass, but he could teach the druids so much.

  Munro was sighing with relief at finishing the runes when the first tremor hit. Dread curled in his stomach. The only time he’d felt a quake like this was when the druids were manipulating the Source Stone. Munro scrambled to his feet. The rickety portal was ready. He had no idea if it would function properly or if using it would be safe. He’d learned a lot when constructing the Mistgate. He only hoped his newfound knowledge was sufficient.

  Drained of energy, he shuffled as fast as his dead legs would carry him to Ewain’s house. The lack of breathing and heartbeat disconcerted him, but willpower kept his corpse moving on course. A loud roar echoed through the sky, and he glanced up at the bleakness. What at first looked like tens of thousands of ravens sweeping toward him made him falter. His dread worsened when he realised the sky was literally falling. The tallest trees crumbled into soot, and the ground heaved.

  With a primal shout, Munro forced himself into motion. They needed to get out, but he couldn’t open the gate without tonics or whatever power Ewain had coaxed Aaron into feeding them. Moving through the darkened house, Munro went to the workshop where Ewain kept the tonics. Every one of the bowls and gourds had been drained of its silvery liquid.

  His heart sank. With the world collapsing in on itself, Ewain wouldn’t have time to make more. Munro rushed as much as his lifeless body would allow. Going down the spiral way Ewain said he’d dug many millennia ago, Munro reached the bottom level and followed the narrow passage to the Shadow Stone.

  Ewain sat in the centre of the room, almost unrecognisable. His body was black smoke, and Munro realised it must have been he who pulled Munro to this realm, killing him.

  Ewain’s shadow growled and wrestled, brief flashes of silvery light moving through his essence as he burned the tonic’s energy. His misty hands stretched out like claws, and in one, he held something Munro couldn’t see.

  “What’ve you done?” Munro asked. “The world is collapsing.”

  “These child druids betrayed us!” Ewain’s shadow
spat, his voice grating like steel on concrete.

  “We have no tonic left?” The miserable recognition of defeat crushed him as the earth trembled beneath his feet.

  “Not a drop,” Ewain said. “If only you’d carried some reserve of power with you. Any druid should know enough to do that.” The shadow hissed as he sighed. “You were all just too young. My impatience has been our undoing.” A crack sounded, and thick, blackish drops of blood ran through Ewain’s fingers.

  Munro approached warily. “We must try. We don’t have much time. Come on.”

  “There’s no point. My power is depleted.” Ewain grew more solid, although his skin appeared as blackened and withered as the trees above. Only his fist retained the orb of smoke around it. “I’ve failed,” he said.

  “Surely there’s something,” Munro said. “Some reserve? Think!” He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out all the things he carried with him. His stylus, a bit of string from the wrapping of Maiya’s birthday present, the token which identified him as a member of the Druid Hall, and a small, smooth stone, barely the size of a two pence piece. Coloured light swirled, blue, orange, and red.

  “Where did you find that?” Ewain said. “Give it to me!”

  It was the stone Munro used to shut the Mistgate. It had absorbed the sacrifices of the other druids. He glanced at Ewain, knowing he no longer needed the elder druid. This small token was the key to opening the gate above.

  The tremors continued, growing harder. The Shadow Stone cracked and Ewain screamed. He opened his hand, and his bloodied palm released a shard of light, which disappeared in a flash.

  “You were trying to bring someone else here, like you did me,” Munro accused.

  Ewain crumpled, defeated. “Yes. The faerie Aaron has bonded with is a strong spirit. Her power would open the gate.”

  “She would have died coming here, like I did. Wouldn’t her power fade as ours did?”

  “She is fae, and I would have bound her spirit to her.”

  “With what? You drank the last of the tonic.”

  “I used a fragment of my own soul to keep you whole.”

  Munro shuddered. He didn’t like knowing part of Ewain’s spirit had touched his.

  “Why me?” Munro said. “With the amount of power required to bring me here, you could have opened a gate yourself.”

  Ewain groaned an eerie laugh. “You don’t understand the power needed to build such a rift. Like I once did, you take your talents for granted.”

  “I’m not powerful. What did you hope to gain?” He no longer believed Ewain’s earlier story about not knowing how to construct a gate. With all his taunting with how little the druids knew, surely Ewain could have done it. He remembered the day he died, and realisation hit him. “You weren’t after my power.” His eyes narrowed. “You wanted Maiya’s.” Munro backed away, shuffling toward the entrance.

  “I always planned to return her to you once I escaped. Do you have any concept of how long I have waited? I needed to act before you took her to Caledonia and out of reach. She shines. She’s a goddess.”

  Munro’s anger surged. Ewain might have brought Maiya’s body back, but even Ewain couldn’t absorb her power without destroying her. The elder druid settled for Munro only because he didn’t have the energy to try again…yet.

  The house over their head creaked as the earth buckled. Munro turned to go.

  “Don’t leave me here to die,” Ewain pled. “Please. You don’t understand. So many thousands of years. I would have done anything to escape…and so would you. Please. I’ll teach you. I’ll make sure you live.” He struggled to stand but didn’t have the strength.

  “You tried to kill my daughter,” Munro spat. “You did kill me.”

  Ewain crumpled with resignation. “You’re right. I deserve my fate. Go,” he said.

  Munro stared for a moment through the crumbling earth, struggling to keep his balance. “Goddamn you,” he said. He rushed toward Ewain and put his arm under the brittle old man. “Swear you’ll not harm my family again.”

  “I swear it,” Ewain said as Munro lifted him easily.

  “You’ll do everything you can to make sure I live?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll share your knowledge with the Druid Hall?” Munro carried Ewain up, staggering on the stairs, forced to use the crumbling walls for support.

  Ewain hesitated. “Fine,” he said.

  “Swear it. Bind yourself to your word.”

  With a grumble, Ewain said, “I swear I will not harm you or your family. I will do everything in my power to restore you, and I will teach you how to advance your druidic talents.”

  “And make an oath that you will never harm any member of the Druid Hall.” Munro knew better than to trust the old man, so he had to trust the oaths would bind him.

  “I swear no druid will come to harm by my hand,” Ewain said.

  By the time they got above ground and outside the house, Munro was all but dragging Ewain in the dirt. As light as the elder was, Munro’s own stores of energy were running desperately thin. He managed to take Ewain to the clearing, but the darkness of death approached as the realm closed in, the world collapsing at an ever-increasing rate. “I still don’t trust you,” Munro said.

  Ewain’s withered lips curled into a weary smile. “Then you are learning,” he said.

  “You will keep to your oath?” Munro asked.

  “The spirit flows will bind me to my promise.” Ewain sighed. “I was, in my lifetime, many terrible things. I have never broken my word, once given.”

  Munro brought Ewain into the small circle. “You don’t need to be the man you were before. You have a choice. Nobody remembers your crimes, whatever they were. Start a new life. Be better than you once were.”

  “Nobody living remembers,” Ewain muttered, his voice oddly reflective.

  Part of Munro wanted to leave the elder druid behind, but whatever else Ewain had done so long ago, he’d also kept Munro’s soul from departing. Ewain did what he needed to escape and survive. Who wouldn’t do the same? “Don’t make me regret saving your life,” he said, taking the token and pressing it into the largest of the standing stones.

  The residue of water, fire, and blood, left over when Rory, Huck, and Demi had at various times activated the Mistgate, melded into a luminescent glow. An arc of light formed a gateway. A flash blinded Munro for an instant. Time passed. The world shifted. He still did not breathe. Munro stared lifelessly from the ground into the bright, misty sky.

  Ewain stood over him, then faded into a blackened mist. “The dead never forget,” he said.

  Chapter 23

  When Aaron stepped out of the time stream again, a scene of chaos filled the courtyard. Tràth, Douglas, and he had moved a few minutes back in time, to the moment before the Stone cracked. When it did, Joy’s prison broke with a clap of thunder and a tremor so violent none kept to their feet. Aaron crawled toward her.

  The quaking hadn’t stopped, and the sky darkened. Where the Halls of Mist usually appeared as a foggy, in-between place, the mists parted and stars pierced through overhead. Cold wind swept the vapours away and a bright blue moon shone over the disintegrating land.

  Aaron made slow progress toward Joy. She lived, but she had fallen unconscious in her small, stone tomb. Shouts filled the air as faeries ran out of the various Halls and the library below. He heard Prince Griogair shout, “Get back! The bridges are collapsing!”

  Aaron’s stomach lurched as he experienced a strange sensation of falling, even though he was belly-down on the ground. The world heaved, and the Halls were raised into the air, mountains growing up beneath them. In the distance, a bird of prey screamed. Something wet touched Aaron’s face, and it took him a moment to realise it was snowing.

  A swirling glow appeared on one side of the courtyard, and Aaron rolled over to get away from it quickly. A shimmering image of four runed stones emerged, light gathering between them. Then, in the centre, two men, huddl
ed together, coalesced into reality. “Munro,” Aaron said, reaching out for his friend. Munro’s eyes shone like vacant glass, and he rolled lifelessly onto his back. “No,” Aaron whispered, renewed grief slicing through him.

  The second figure rose like death itself. When he broke the edges of the circle, the gate disintegrated. Aaron stared up at him.

  Oszlár had fallen nearby, and he staggered to his feet. “Curse you, Ewain!” he shouted and rushed toward the withered creature. He lifted his hand and whispered an incantation, but the figure waved it aside and the magic didn’t touch him. Oszlár kept moving forward, gripping a freshly conjured elemental sword. Ewain tilted his head. When Oszlár reached him, Ewain shifted into mist, and the sword passed through him.

  Oszlár shrieked in frustration, but then Ewain touched the ancient Keeper’s chest. In an instant, Oszlár’s skin blackened and cracked. He didn’t even have time to cry out as his flesh turned to soot.

  “No!” Aaron shouted.

  Ewain inhaled and then smiled. Whatever he’d taken from Oszlár strengthened him. He stood erect and glanced around the courtyard once more. All had fallen silent, and people stared in horror. Ewain strode toward the dais that once held the portal.

  “Joy!” Aaron called. The earth stopped shaking, at least for the moment, so Aaron scrambled to his feet. Ewain moved too quickly, travelling like smoke. He got to Joy before Aaron had even secured his footing.

  Ewain gathered Joy in his arms and stared at her strangely, taking in her bald head, her branded forehead, the ropy scar across her neck. Anger seared his ancient features. He looked around, searching, then paused when he saw Jago huddled near Lisle. Fingering an object hanging from a cord around his own neck, Ewain gestured, then turned his attention back to Joy. He touched her forehead, almost tenderly, and she opened her eyes and began to silently scream.

  Aaron ran to Ewain, panicking as Joy responded to horrific physical pain. He tried to grab Ewain’s arm, but Aaron’s hand passed through, as though Ewain were made of blackened mist. The elder druid stared blankly at Aaron, and Aaron realised the brand on Joy’s forehead had vanished.