She gagged when she saw the revolting carcass. “A bath can’t happen soon enough,” she said, quickly jotting down a few words in her notepad. “Finn and I are showered and clean from head to toe, and dressed in a fresh change of clothes.”
As she felt the cool, breezy sensation of her skin being cleaned in an instant, she laughed at Finn who had the startled look of someone being touched inappropriately.
He ran his hand over his spotless clothes. “That’s wicked! And a touch unsettling. You won’t take advantage of that will you?”
She gave him a mischievous smile. “Only when it suits me.”
Grinning, he took her hand, pulling her along behind him. “Come along, vixen. There’s a stream over there. I say we follow it to see if anyone’s living nearby. No doubt it’ll be Glenna if my guess is right.” He stopped and turned to Sithias. “Stay by the big book and keep it safe.”
Already nestled beneath his blanket, the snake poked his head out in surprise. “And what will I do all by myssself? Twiddle my tail?”
“Whatever butters your biscuit,” Finn called back.
As they followed the creek, he seemed content to walk in silence for a while. Fate would’ve enjoyed the quiet stroll, but she was too nervous to relax. She was certain he would press her to talk at any moment, but she was wrong. He spotted a dilapidated mud hut through the trees and picked up the pace.
The thatch on the cone-shaped roof was in desperate need of repair, and the rounded mud walls were crumbling in places that left holes for the biting cold to seep in. A harsh winter of heavy snow had broken branches off the surrounding trees and the spring thaw had caused the ground to turn to mud.
They strode up to the door and knocked. Scuffling sounds came from inside before the door cracked open to reveal a wary eye peering back at them. “What ‘tis it ye want?” a young girl’s quavering voice asked. “We have not a thing of value for the taking.”
“We don’t want anything,” Finn assured her, “except to offer a trade of service for some food and a few nights’ shelter from the cold.”
Fate stared at him in surprise, unable to hide her objection to his impromptu plan.
“It’s the first thing I thought of,” he whispered out of the side of his mouth.
The door opened more. Glenna stood before them, pale and delicately boned with large hazel eyes and flaxen hair worn in a long braid under a blue tartan scarf. She smoothed down her rumpled dress and shyly invited them inside.
A warm fire blazed in a deepened well at the center of the round hut with a large kettle hanging over the flames. Hugging the curved walls was a long earthen ledge covered in furs, blankets and a myriad of woven baskets, pots and utensils. Glenna’s sick mother lay close to the fire on a bed of thatch. Her breathing was labored and her hollow eyes were closed to the world.
As they sat down by the fire, introductions were made while Glenna ladled hot water from the steaming pot into cups and sprinkled cinnamon bark into each one.
“I saw the new thatch sitting outside the door. I can do the mending on the roof for you, and there are cracks in the walls I could patch easily enough,” Finn offered.
“Oh, bless ye. That would be most welcome,” Glenna said in round-eyed amazement. Her timid gaze flicked to Fate.
“And Fate can darn your socks or do some sewing for you,” he added.
Glenna looked overwhelmed. “Thank ye both many times over.”
“It’s our pleasure.” Finn set his cup down and rose. “We’d best get back and gather our belongings. We’ll return shortly.”
Glenna smiled brightly. “And I’ll have some bread and broth waiting on yer return.”
“Oh don’t go to any trouble. We could be a while actually. It’s a long walk,” Fate said, directing a pointed gaze at Finn.
After they left, she walked fast alongside the creek, stopping after they were a fair distance from the hut. “Listen, I can’t sleep on those flea-infested furs. Call me crazy, but I’m just not into icky rashes.”
Disappointment moved in Finn’s eyes. “I never figured you for a snob.”
His criticism stung and she rose to defend herself. “I’m not. But if the option’s there, I’ll take Egyptian cotton and a goose-down comforter complete with a yummy chocolate mint on my crisp, clean pillow.”
He stared at her blank-faced.
“Okay, that didn’t sound nearly as justified as it was supposed to,” she sighed. “Go ahead, crown me Queen of Snobdom.”
“Very well, Your Majesty.” He cracked a smile. “I know sleeping in Glenna’s hut is unappealing, but it’s only for one night. Just long enough for us to make sure she doesn’t go to that caravan alone.” He glanced back at the mud hut. “She’s too young to be carrying the weight of the world on those small shoulders.”
He looked tormented by the young girl’s plight. Fate could
tell he was thinking back to his own burdened childhood. A wave of guilt rose to the surface. She wanted to run from it, deny she was responsible for his pain. But she couldn’t turn her back on the truth anymore. She had to confess what she knew before another minute passed. If she didn’t do it now, she never would.
“Finn, I need to tell you something.”
He shifted his gaze to her, a new look of concern in his eyes.
A sudden sense of loss hit her, like something was being ripped out of her chest. Would he look at her the same way after she told him?
“Is this about what you’ve been waiting to tell me?” he asked, his expression hopeful, but growing troubled.
She nodded, unable to speak, her throat tight with fear.
He stepped close, combing his fingers lightly through hers. “Come on, love. You’ve got me tied in a thousand knots wondering what this is about. I was so sure it was going to be good but now it’s feeling wrong.” He let out a sigh that shook his entire being. “It may be too soon to say this…but there’s an uncommon bond between us. A connection like no other, as if I’ve known you my whole life.” He tapped a finger over her heart. “And I can feel what’s going on in there. Half the time I don’t know where you begin and I end.”
He grew quiet, his gaze penetrating deep. “I’m drowning in you, Fate.”
Her knees went weak with longing. All she wanted to do was step into his arms and tell him she felt the same. But she’d gone leaden with dread. She was the only one who knew why they were both feeling this way, and as much as she wanted it to be the real thing, love didn’t have anything to do with it.
When her silence dragged on, frustration skimmed over the vulnerability he’d allowed her to see. His face closed. “Say something,” he said, his voice gruff.
Tears burned her eyes. “Finn, I’ve been looking for you for so long, trying to find you in the face of every guy I met, but I never ever found you…until now.”
His brows shot up, incredulous. “This is a problem?”
She tore away from him, tilting her head to the sky. “God, how do I say this?”
He reached out, his voice pleading, “Fate––”
“You won’t like what I have to tell you,” she warned, her hand held up to keep him from coming any closer. “And you won’t like me, because in some freakishly cosmic way, this is my fault.”
He stared at her with a look of utter bewilderment.
“You’re not real, Finn!” she cried out. “You’re a character I invented when I was twelve. You were my very first. I created you long before I wrote Magic Brew. And I never stopped writing about you…I couldn’t. You are my greatest work and the story that should’ve been published. You’ve been a dear and constant friend to me for the last five years. I’m just sorry it took me so long to recognize you.”
Suddenly, a snowflake falling to the ground would have been loud. Finn stood rooted in place, his face frozen in disbelief.
She started talking quickly. Everything she’d held back spilled out unchecked. “I know all about your terrible childhood…because I made it up. After you
r mother died, your father started drinking, so much so that he lost his job and you had to start dumpster diving in the back alleys of restaurants to put food on the table. Then, when you were thirteen, your mother’s father came and took you back with him to Scotland, where you discovered you were the descendant of a long line of Druids.”
She could see the blood draining from his face. When at last he spoke, his voice came in a hoarse whisper. “I never told anyone about the bin howking. Not a soul.” His body went rigid, his expression dark as he shook his head. “No, I don’t believe you.”
“I know how crazy this sounds,” she said, growing sick to her stomach as pain carved lines into his face. “I couldn’t believe it either. But there were just too many clues.”
“This isn’t possible,” he insisted.
She took one step. Her entire being reached out, wanting to comfort him.
He pointed his shoulder at her, staring into the stream, where it burbled cheerfully beneath the thick banks of undergrowth. A few agonizing minutes later, he turned to her, his hair in his eyes, his mouth a grim line. “Tell me what’s in my pockets,” he said, fixing his gaze on the ground, “other than what you’ve already seen.”
“We don’t need to––”
“Just tell me,” he growled.
She let out a shaky sigh. “Okay, you have a clay pipe and a leather pouch full of holy blend, a flat round stone with a natural hole in its center that you found on the Isle of Skye, and a wooden flute your grandfather made for you. And…you carry a white satin ribbon your mother wore in her hair. It used to smell like her lilac shampoo.”
She held her breath as Finn recognized the awful truth. His tortured gaze burned into her for a protracted moment, his mouth bending into a sorrowful line that knifed into her heart.
At last he moved, and without saying a word, he stormed past her.
As Fate watched him disappear within the multitude of birch trees, the whole world turned bleak and wintry.
Chapter 12
FINN HAD NO WAY TO PROTECT HIMSELF from the onslaught of emotions thrashing in his chest like wild animals clawing to get out. If he wasn’t reeling with shock or disbelief, he was furious. His world had been ripped out from under him. He no longer knew who he was, or even what he was. His whole life was a lie, the offhand daydream of a bored twelve-year-old.
No matter how many times he ran it through his head, denial screamed in his veins, nerves and bones. How could he not be real? He breathed, he bled, he hungered, he loved. And what about his family? His friends? None of them existed?
He tightened the knots like he was strangling someone, tying down the last of the thatch onto Glenna’s moldering roof. His hands stung with scratches made by the stiff straw and blisters covered his palms from pulling hard on the rope. He welcomed the pain, as well as the physical labor. He needed something to pour his rage into.
He jumped off the roof, his boots splattering mud everywhere. As he tromped over to the pail of mortar by the door, he slowed. Fate was inside with Glenna. He squatted next to the bucket, stirring the mixture with a stick while listening to their conversation.
“I don’t know how skilled ye are with the darning needle. Me own work is solid, but not pretty, so I’ll not be fussy about yer workmanship,” Glenna said. “I hope this isn’t more than is fair––it’s just that most everything we have is worn through.”
“No, this is fine. I’ll do my best,” Fate replied. There was a definite note of humility in her tone.
Finn picked up the heavy pail, glancing inside the hut as he slogged past the door. Glenna was thanking Fate with a hug. The look of surprise on Fate’s face turned sad when she saw him pass by. He ducked his head down and kept walking.
He was spreading mortar over a sprawling vein of deep cracks when Glenna stepped outside. “I’m off to gather kindling in the woods, and then to market with me bundles,” she said with a smile.
He set down the trowel. “How about I go to market with you? I can carry the load.”
Glenna’s eyes widened with wonder and appreciation. “I’ll return for ye once I’ve finished me work,” she said, and skipped off.
Finn watched her go, a wave of compassion washing back the gnawing anguish for a brief moment. She was so little, so alone and vulnerable. Taking out his knife, he stepped next to the hut’s entrance and scratched several protective markings into the clay wall. As he stood back feeling a speck of satisfaction, an insidious question wormed its way into his thoughts. Was Glenna real? Was he wasting his efforts and concerns on a cardboard character only acting out human emotions?
But then who was he to judge?
Anger crashed back in, burning his gut like he’d swallowed acid. He closed the blade and shoved the knife back in his pocket. Grabbing the trowel, he swiped at the walls violently. He didn’t know what to think anymore. Everything he’d learned throughout his entire life, all his beliefs, none of it meant anything. It was all made-up nonsense, meaningless words on paper––
“Are those Ogham markings?” Fate asked, jarring him from his thoughts.
He froze for a second, then caught himself and continued filling the cracks. “You should know,” he said without looking at her. She was quiet a moment. He could see her touching the wall out of the corner of his eye. He clenched his jaw to keep from telling her to leave him alone.
“If I remember right, these ones call upon the nearby birch, rowan and ash trees to act as protective wards,” she said, her tone hesitant.
“It’s alder, not ash, but you’re right on the rest,” he grumbled.
“I don’t recognize the one at the bottom.”
Still gritting his teeth, he took a deep breath. “It’s my Druidic name.” As soon as he said it, he felt foolish. Every test and initiation he’d gone through to be given a name that reflected his soul by the Order had never actually happened. She’d made that up too. There was nothing that belonged to him.
A lump of ice formed in the pit of his stomach as he realized an even more crushing truth. If he wasn’t real, that meant he was soulless.
Suddenly she was beside him, her hand pressing on his arm in an attempt to stop his frenzied movements as he slapped mortar into a deep crevasse in the wall. His skin flushed with heat beneath her touch, quickening his pulse. He dropped the trowel in the bucket and stared into it. Every cell in his body responded to her presence, heightening his senses. Her pity flooded through him, mixing into his turmoil and clouding his mind with confusion. He hated this acute sensitivity he had to her every emotion.
“Finn, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice trembling.
The breeze played through her hair, flowing her scent over him. Pure heaven. He swallowed as the blood pumped through him hard and fast. Lifting his head, he met her gaze. Her face brightened, a blush of pink flushing her cheeks. Hope rounded her eyes as she opened her mouth to speak.
He silenced her with his finger to her lips. Helpless to look away or utter a word, he stared at the sensuous curve of her bottom lip. He wanted to blame her for this hell he was in, but now that she was next to him like this all he wanted to do was kiss her. How could he though? He was a mannequin, hollow and fake. Any right he had to declare his feelings for her as a man were gone forever.
A weak moan came from inside the hut.
Grateful for the interruption, Finn stepped around her and went inside. Crouching next to Glenna’s mother, he felt her forehead and dipped deep into her mind with his senses. A horrible shiver ran up his arm, sapping the life from him as a cold, withering sensation traveled toward his heart. He jerked his hand away. “She’s close to death,” he said as Fate knelt beside him. “You have to use the Words of Making to save her.”
Fate hesitated, worry stirred in her eyes. “But you said we have to be careful. I can’t just write any old thing. What if it backfires again? With my luck I could turn her into a zombie… or a really healthy but deformed freak.”
“We need the goblet,” he said. “At
least we know it works.”
She pulled out the notepad. “Maybe I can write it up and bypass getting it from the veiled woman altogether.”
“Aye, it’s worth a try.”
She wriggled her hips into a sitting position. His pulse raced in response, a fire spreading through him as she licked her lips and tapped the tiny pencil against her chin. Pushing the fever down, he drew in a ragged breath while she wrote. The little crease of concentration between her brows and tongue trailing along her top lip crumbled his wall of anger brick by brick.
“Okay,” she said at last, looking pleased.
He let out a sigh of relief as she continued.
“Since I don’t know what the goblet looks like, I’ve tried my best to describe its essence. Cross your fingers this works,” she said, then read the passage aloud: “Forged by the pale thin hands of swamp dwelling goblins many ages ago, a golden goblet came into being. The goblet bore such great form and beauty that it wept honeyed dewdrops of grace and healing for whatever lips kissed its gleaming warmth. It is my wish that this magic goblet vanish from the kingdom of goblins and appear here in my open hand in order to heal those in need.”
Finn listened, entranced by the poetic description, her voice a balm to his tortured psyche. Upon speaking the last word, a blue-green mist swirled round her hand and coalesced into a large golden goblet. Fate gasped with surprise, dropping it for the sudden heaviness. He lurched forward, saving it from hitting the ground.
He studied the goblet’s braided spirals and its deep well inlaid with mother of pearl. Droplets of water beaded over the pale abalone and pooled within the cup. He looked at Fate, bewitched and in awe. Her thoughts, her words, had reached out into the ether and transported this work of art here into their hands. His heart opened and filled with admiration. He wondered if the words she’d used to describe him were anywhere near as beautiful.
For one fleeting second he was at peace with being her creation. But the bitter resentment skimming just below the surface punched through, shattering this fragile bit of acceptance. Everything had changed. He would never be Fate’s equal. She was substance. He was a wisp of smoke.
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