He pulled on the worn sleeveless tunic. Once white and now gray, it covered his upper body in a withered fashion. He liked the cloth because it laced up the sides and front allowing him freedom of movement without affecting the few remaining bandages on his back. The breeches were old too, worn and thin across the thighs. Both garments he stole from some farm in his passing. They were pieces of mortal clothing, which would not bring attention to the wearer, and he preferred it that way. The boots were comfortable on his feet, unremarkable, and stolen, too. He carried a plain dagger at his waist, and nothing more for defense.
He always knew he would return to Dowth to retrieve the dragonfly cuffs. He wanted them for no other reason than to have them. He should have taken them initially, he thought in reproach, but his dull-witted mind had been too focused on doing Lana’s bidding and getting Glenna to safety.
He walked through the tall grasses and came upon the mortal entrance to Dowth North. He lived from day to day, moment to moment, a dismal creature no longer valuable even to himself. Gazing down into the shadowy path, he felt his pulse quicken in memory and then entered. He chose not to take the feypaths of his kin. This path was the direct one to the Dowth’s underground chambers.
When he came upon the twin pools, he paused to listen to the unchanged and constant ripple of the waterfall. Somehow, he thought the black pools would be different, as he was different, but it was the same white foam and mist, the same rocks and crystal shores, and the same white bark trees weeping in the corner. The carcasses of the dead faeries were gone, he knew not where, nor did he care. The silver cuffs, however, remained where they had fallen from Lana’s arms.
He walked around the pools, staying away from the cursed trees, and knelt beside the cuffs. They were still radiant, the delicate filigree and dragonfly motif still beautiful.
With both hands, he gently scooped them up, feeling the cool, smooth perfection in his palms.
The cuffs were fey born crafted. He wondered if they would respond to his request, or simply ignore him. Placing one reverently in his lap, he held a cuff over his right wrist and waited for the cuffs acceptance or contempt. Immediately, the cuff expanded in approval, fitting over bone and flesh, fitting his wrist perfectly. He reached for the second cuff and slipped it over his left wrist. It, too, enlarged in the same way, forming to his flesh, a proper fey born fit.
Keegan stared down at his wrists. Nostrils flaring, his jaw clenched. A river of rage rose up inside him and then, just as quickly, dispersed. Hands dropping to his sides, he rocked back to his feet.
He walked slowly around the twin pools, his future set in everlasting shades of disgrace and darkness.
CHAPTER 21
IN A FLASH OF LIGHT, Lana found herself alone and standing in front of Derina’s home. Over her shoulder, the morning warmth of the sun and a new day spread across the land.
She silently thanked the Gods and Goddesses for Blodenwedd’s restraint. The goddess’s hatred emanated out of every single pore of her skin, and Lana knew she would always have an enemy.
Lana took hold of herself. She would not underestimate the greater battle to come, the battle for Keegan’s heart. He had been terribly hurt, maimed in an unfair punishment she had caused. Mayhap he blamed her for it, mayhap even hated her. She had to find out, had to know if there was anything left of their love to fight for.
“Derina.” She leaned into the open doorway.
When no answer came, Lana walked in.
The round house was empty.
Returning outside, she came around the back and found the druidess sitting in her garden. All around her were fragrant plant beds and flat walking stones. In her hands, she held Keegan’s sea cuff of silver.
“Ancient.”
The druidess turned to her, her face blank. “Lana, is that you?”
“Aye.” She held out her hands and then dropped them to her sides when the welcome did not turn warmer.
“Valor has released you?” the druidess asked.
Lana nodded and sat beside the druidess on the unfinished rock wall.
“Is that his cuff?”
The druidess handed it to her. Fey born crafted, the sea-etched cuff was as light as an oak leaf, the metalworking exquisite to the eye.
“He gave this to you?” she asked the ancient.
The druidess adjusted the draping of her brown robes over her skinny legs. “He bid me give it to Glenna because he could not give it to you.”
“Glenna dinna want it?”
The druidess shook her head. “Nay, but then the guardian be not her beloved.”
Lana nodded despondently. Keegan was her beloved. He belonged to her. Her gaze strayed to the meandering cow in the gently rolling meadow beyond.
“You will not return home, Lana?”
“Nay, I canna return to that life, Derina. Better they think me traveling with Keegan and someday returning.”
“Why did you come here?”
Lana hesitated. “Blodenwedd hates me and will not take me to Keegan. I am not even sure if she knows where he is anymore. I doona know why she relented and helped me.” She shrugged. “I could only think of you and hoped…”
“What do you hope?”
“I hope you will help me find him. I know you be fey born, Derina.” She smiled hesitantly. “Doona look so surprised. Valor told me.”
“What does a sword spirit know of it?” The ancient scowled in displeasure.
“She has knowledge of many things.”
“Knowledge,” Derina huffed, waving her hand in dismissal. “She doona know all of it.”
“Nay,” Lana agreed, “nor would I ask.”
The ancient reached for her walking stick and dug the tip into the ground with noticeable distress. “Now that you think me fey born, Lana, what do you want of me?”
“I need your help. I must find him, Derina. I must find Keegan.”
“Why?”
Lana pulled back at the ancient’s unusually callous tone.
“Do you not want me to find him?” she asked, hurt by one she thought a friend.
“Tell me why you must find him, Lana.”
“I love him,” Lana replied just as fiercely. “I love him and I believe he loves me. With or without your help, I am going to find him.” She stood up.
“Sit down.” The druidess’s demeanor softened. “That be all I needed to hear.”
Lana sat down beside the druidess, overwhelmed with emotions. “I love him,” she cried, her voice watery.
The druidess patted her knee in reassurance. “So, Blodenwedd refuses to help.”
Aye.
“What makes you think a crippled old crone like me can help?”
Lana looked into the empty eye sockets without reservation. “Keegan be of your bloodline, Derina, is he not? Direct-blooded fey born can sense each other more easily, Valor says.”
“Valor says,” the druidess muttered aloud. “The infernal deity thinks she knows more than most.” She dug her walking stick into the ground with more irritation. “Valor says,” she grumbled on in dislike.
Lana waited for the ancient to calm herself.
Derina looked up, her fingers clenching around the knob of the walking stick. “I suppose I must tell you, if you are to understand all of it.”
Lana kept silent, her hands locked around Keegan’s sea cuff.
“I remember that long ago day as if it be only yesterday, Lana. A dreadful rainstorm of lightning and thunder swept over the lands, turning the day to night. My eldest sister went into the sacred woodlands alone to give birth to her first child, but something went terribly wrong.” She took a trembling breath and Lana covered the withered hand with her own, offering comfort.
“Go on,” she whispered.
“I found my sister the next morning, dead. In her arms lay her newborn son. She had shielded him against her breast, protecting him from the fury of the rainstorm.” She took a deep breath and tapped her finger on the silver cuff. “That sea wave cuff
you cradle so gently, Lana, belonged to my sister.”
“I am so sorry, Derina. I dinna know.”
The druidess turned away. “His father be a guardian and I gave the babe into his care. That be the last time I had seen him, until he came to the tribe of men, full grown.” She smiled gently. “He has the exact shape and shade of my sister’s eyes. I knew him instantly.”
“Does he know about you?” Lana inquired, already guessing the answer.
The ancient shook her head. “Nay, and that be how I wish it.”
“I will not betray your confidence, Derina. Your secret stays with me.” A wrinkled hand slid over hers and squeezed.
“He be hurt, Lana. I speak not of the scars on his back, but deep down in the magical reaches of him, a terrible sorrow dwells.”
“I understand.”
The empty eye sockets studied her in the long silence that followed. “Mayhap you do understand,” the ancient said after a while. Pushing down on her walking stick for balance, she climbed to her feet. “Have you seen Lightning today?” she asked casually, seemingly changing the subject.
Lana stood too, a bit confused by the question. She took a quick look at the cloudless blue sky above and detected no coming storm.
“Not that kind of lightning, Lana.” The druidess arched one white brow, waiting for comprehension.
Lana gave the wizened face a strong examination. “Lightning,” she murmured, and then grasped the answer. “Lightning, my friend.”
“I be finding it difficult to call that battle-scarred, bad tempered horse a friend.” the ancient said warmly. “Follow the stallion, Lana, and you be finding your heart’s desire.”
Lana hugged the ancient tightly, holding on to the diminutive frame, feeling incredibly indebted and grateful.
“Easy,” the druidess laughed, smoothly pulling away. “You be squeezing the air out of me.”
“Derina, I…” Lana offered an apologetic smile.
“No harm done. Come.”
A small knobby hand slid in the crook of her arm, turning her back to the cottage.
“Methinks you need to change out of that fancy fey gown if you be roaming the woodlands after a stallion. We wouldna want any of the men folk around here mistaking you for a faery now, would we?” the ancient laughed. “I have your old clothes inside, Lana. Your mother never reclaimed them.”
Lana remembered she always left a change of clothes at the druidess’s house. She allowed the ancient one to lead her at a slow pace even though she wanted to hurry.
“The clothes be in the back room, Lana.”
Lana entered the cottage ahead of the druidess and found her worn brown tunic and breeches immediately. Quickly removing the gown, she placed it reverently on the bed of pelts. Turning, she slipped into her comfortable working clothes. The soft boots were familiar, too.
The druidess moved inside the room and touched something shiny on the corner shelf.
Lana looked up and was surprised to see the Tara brooch Keegan gave to her as a gift before their handfasting.
“I have kept the brooch safe for your daughter.”
She frowned. “Ancient, I have no daughter.”
“Yet.”
Lana walked over and kissed the druidess’s soft cheek. “My thanks, Derina.”
“Off with you now,” the ancient said, embarrassed.
Lana ran out of the round house and took off for the high meadows. Legs pumping, heart pounding in a strong beat, it was not long before she found the stallion.
CHAPTER 22
LATE IN THE NIGHT A mid-autumn rainstorm passed through the edge of the fey woodlands where Keegan made his home. High winds and torrential rains made the land tremble in homage before felling an ancient oak and moving on. The crash startled the numbness inside him, and he had gone to the doorway.
He did not know how long he stood in the entrance of his home, naked and waiting for dawn, but it felt like a long while to him. After a time, he leaned a shoulder against the door’s wooden frame and folded his arms across his chest. The nightmares were less frequent, he thought with a sense of detachment. In the beginning, he walked the woodlands in isolation, a bitter and wounded animal, until finally he let go of that other life. He found a sense of solace in the simpler and slower ways. At least, that was what he told himself.
He closed his eyes wearily and listened to the hum and echo of daybreak. Pushing off the doorframe, he went back inside and slipped into a pair of torn gray breeches. He wanted to see the fallen tree. Venturing out on bare feet, mud and soggy grass slipped between his bare toes. The air felt humid, a residual of the last breath of summer warmth. He let his senses lead him to the downed tree, not far from his unfinished home.
Picking his way around the broken branches, he knelt beside the thick trunk of the fallen tree like a grieving friend. “Given up, old ruler?” he asked quietly, and nudged a piece of rough black bark aside. Swirling insects infested the tree.
Keegan replaced the bark and gave the tree a final pat. “Time to rest.” The oak lived a long life and now must dwindle, as was the way of things, as he too would dwindle with time. Resting a forearm on his thigh, he looked up at the bright ribbons crossing the lightening sky. Another day had arrived.
Standing, he stretched his arms, testing the soreness of his scarred back. He caught a whiff of horse in the woodsy air currents. In the near distance, he heard the sound of hoofbeats approaching. Keegan looked down and allowed himself a small grin. Lightning had found him again.
Not far from the village, he had retreated to this secret place on the other side of the fey woodlands. It was a secluded spot near a tiny loch known to only a handful of trusted guardians and one sorrel stallion. He knew the other guardians would keep his secret, an honor among them. His guardian father, although they rarely spoke, had seen to the secrecy of his existence. As for the stallion…
“Early riser this morn, Lightning.” The stallion emerged from the trees, sleek and well groomed, his brown eyes bright with life. He bobbed his head and then shied away from the fallen tree.
“Easy boy,” Keegan soothed and stepped over the trunk. “ ‘Tis just an old tree whose end has come.” He came up beside the horse’s strong shoulder and stroked the muscular neck with fondness. “Nothing to be afraid of.”
Lightning snorted in disagreement.
Keegan chuckled, enjoying the rare moments of companionship. “All right, you can disagree. Have you come for one of your apples?” He scratched behind the horse’s left ear and received a grateful whinny.
“I hope you took great pains not to be followed. It might put a damper on my health as I am a banished fey born these days.”
Lightning pawed the ground.
“Impatient, are you?” Keegan gave the horse a firm pat. “Follow me then.”
Turning, he followed the path back to his home and walked around the back end of the circular gardens and a patch of purple foxgloves in full bloom. The round house stood near the loch. He had built it so he could gaze upon the clear waters whenever he wished. A place far from turmoil and emotion, he had found a small measure of peace in the growing of things.
The stallion followed close at his heels, sniffing at his hips. He leaned over and grabbed an apple from the wicker basket beside his doorway.
“Is this what you are looking for?” The horse pushed at his hand with his muzzle. “Wait a minute, you old goat.” Keegan removed the dagger at his waist. “Here, let me cut it in half for you.” With a quick slash, he cut the shiny red apple and held one half up in his open palm. The horse’s soft muzzle scooped up the offering and he held out the other half. It was gobbled up as well.
“I like apples, too,” a familiar female voice said.
Keegan stiffened. Slowly, he looked over the stallion’s smooth back.
Among the clustered purple bells of the foxgloves, a lovely, slightly damp apparition stood in a brown tunic and breeches. Sun-kissed hair cascaded in glorious wet waves down slender shoul
ders. Enormous dark eyes were watchful, full lips curved in a faint smile, unsure of welcome.
And rightly so.
Why should he welcome another fey born?
Anger coursed through his blood. He did not want to be found.
“I seem to have gotten caught in the rainstorm last night.”
She stayed hidden amongst the foxgloves, the lus na mban sidhe, the herb of the faery woman, caught in the shadows of the morning light.
He swallowed hard and realized he could do nothing. Sheathing his dagger back in his belt, he stepped away from the horse.
It is not her, his mind insisted, resolute in grief, a flood of raw and painful feelings streaming through him.
He forced himself to kneel on one knee and bowed his head. “I am honored.”
I am honored? Lana peered at him, too astonished to speak. His brown hair had grown longer, the red and gold strands glinting with remembered light. He looked virile and healthy, but there was a glaze in his eyes before he bowed his head, a spirit withdrawn and no longer touchable.
“Keegan?” she heard herself say.
“I am he.”
She bit her lip. When he retrieved an apple for Lightning, she saw his punishment and felt queasy. Two identical red scars sliced down his shoulder blades. They were the length of a big man’s forearm.
“Keegan, ‘tis me, Lana,” she murmured nervously, picking at the soggy laces of her tunic. She thought of what he suffered and her heart ached with shame and sorrow. “Do you not know me?”
“You are not her.” He lifted eyes haunted with shadows and rage.
Grief pressed in upon her, and Lana walked the short distance to him.
Kneeling, she took his cherished face in her hands. “I have missed you,” she said shakily. “Please, Keegan.”
His eyes closed. It was as if he could not suffer to look upon her, and she felt her insides crumble to tiny bits. She kissed each eyelid in desperate tenderness, tasting the saltiness of the tears he held back. She kissed his smooth cheek. She kissed his perfect nose and the delicious seam of his closed lips.
“Lana,” he rasped, a deep hurtful sound given to her name. His eyes opened, cast in frozen silver. Long blunt fingers wrapped around her wrists, and shoved her hands away.
Fey Born Page 25