Caledonia Fae 04- Druid Lords

by India Drummond

  “Imbeciles!” she shouted, her eyes gleaming. “You take without sacrifice.”

  Aaron’s eyes clamped shut as the entire room shuddered.

  Lisle looked around the room, but she didn’t seem to find what she was searching for. With effort, she pulled her hand back and bit down on her palm. Breathing hard, she groaned with the effort. When she took her palm away from her mouth, blood covered both.

  “What are you doing?” Aaron asked.

  She put her fingers back to the Stone and then repeated the ritual with the other hand. Through their link, Aaron experienced the pain in his own palms. Nausea rose in his stomach as the Stone responded to her blood. The tremors stopped, but the throbbing of magic didn’t abate. Instead, the flows turned and swirled around Lisle and, through their link, the other druids.

  Sweat dripped down her nose and splashed onto the Stone’s surface. Her expression grew wild with the power coursing through her. “Give to the Stone,” she said. He removed his hand and began to put it to his mouth, but she stopped him. “No, offer your magic. Feed the Stone.”

  “How?” Rory asked, his features tight with strain.

  “Every time you have come here, you have taken from the Stone. Reverse the current. This is the only way to heal the artefact.”

  Aaron felt a surge in the link between the four druids, and Lisle guided them expertly through the heaving flows.

  When he turned his focus away from his own experience and shifted to the Stone itself, he sensed Lisle’s blood, their combined sweat, the warmth of their flesh on its surface. The Stone ached.

  Douglas’ magic coursed first. Cool water streamed from below his hands and wormed to the centre of the Stone’s surface, where the fluid met Lisle’s blood. Aaron and Rory followed the younger druid’s lead. But instead of the fusing liquid splashing to the floor, the Stone absorbed the solution thirstily.

  A great sadness swept over Aaron, emanating from the Stone. The sensation tore at his heart and wracked his body. His soul keened and tears sprang from his eyes, splashing on the smooth rock, which took each drop within.

  Injured, but sated, the Stone relented and quieted.

  “Now,” Lisle said in a soft whisper. “Inquire, but do not demand.”

  “What should we ask it?” They had to be careful. Their truce with the Stone was precarious.

  Douglas leaned forward and spoke gently to the Stone. “The queen of Ashkyne has denied the draoidh,” he said. “She seeks to destroy us and the Keepers of the Stone, who support us. She must be weakened, or neither we nor your keepers will survive.”

  The Stone turned slowly beneath their hands and a loud grating noise of rock against rock filled the chamber. Even the keepers grew silent.

  The druids waited, perplexed and anxious.

  “What’s it doing?” Rory asked.

  Douglas shook his head and glanced at Lisle. “Thinking,” she said.

  Aaron frowned. Powerful artefact or no, rocks don’t think, not even magically imbued rocks.

  Suddenly, the keepers ducked as lights shot outward from the Stone and swirled around the room. They forked like tendrils, twisting and seeking the runes on the surrounding walls. One by one, the threads of light tapped various symbols.

  Douglas read them out. “The peaks of Ashkyne must not end (cease, die). The kingdom holds too much heart (life, blood). The Stone must not break.”

  “Jesus,” Aaron whispered. Turning his attention to the Stone itself, he spoke. “We don’t want you to destroy Ashkyne. Maybe just forget about it for a little bit?”

  The Stone turned again, and one light streamed outward. The beam touched a symbol on the wall. Aaron turned to Douglas. “What does it say?” he asked.

  Douglas looked at the symbol, then met Aaron’s gaze. “Forgotten,” he said.

  As soon as the word slipped out of his mouth, the Stone sank into the ground, inch by inch. The druids’ link melted, and the four of them sat in stunned silence.

  “It didn’t break,” Douglas said. He closed his eyes, his relief evident.

  “Well done, boy,” Lisle said. She sat back on her heels, looking drained, traces of blood still smearing her face.

  “We couldn’t have done it without you,” Aaron admitted. “Again.” Her resilience when dealing with an artefact that had overwhelmed the others impressed him.

  Lisle tried to stand, but faltered.

  One of the keepers darted forward and caught her. “My lady druid,” he said with reverence. “We can assist you back to the Druid Hall to rest, or offer you a place here.”

  She smiled briefly, but her expression quickly turned serious. “We don’t have time,” she said, “First, we have to figure out what we’ve done.” She made an effort to stand on her own, but her knees buckled.

  Aaron said to the keeper, “Please take the lady druid somewhere safe to rest.” He cut off Lisle’s protest with a wave of his hand. “You proved more capable than anyone before. Every single one of us collapsed after touching the Stone for the first time. And here you are, standing and talking. We need you too much to let you drive yourself further than your body can withstand.”

  She sighed and nodded. “Very well. But call me if you’re going to break the Otherworld again.”

  A smile came to his face unbidden. “I promise.” He admired her grit.

  Chapter 22

  Munro sped as fast as possible towards the portal to the Halls of Mist. Many of the foreign guests, including most of the royals, followed. Their voices occasionally rose in alarm behind him as further tremors rippled through the ground. Relief flooded over him when he finally glimpsed the portal’s familiar blue glow ahead.

  A few metres closer, however, and he realised this was not the serene globe of light he expected. The Watchers who guarded the portal had backed away from the immense round platform. Cracking bolts of lightning shot out, arcing to the earth and juttering to and fro.

  By the time Munro drew near, the other queens and their entourages had caught up with him. A familiar voice came from just behind him. “My lord druid,” said the young faerie.

  Munro turned to see who’d spoken. “Tràth?” Griogair’s son’s presence surprised him. “What are you doing here? You should be with Eilidh and your father.”

  Tràth frowned at the angry portal. “Douglas is through there.”

  Munro instantly understood. The separation must have proved difficult for Tràth, considering how infrequently he and his bonded druid lived apart. Passing through the portal dampened Munro’s connection to Eilidh much more than if one of them were merely in the human realm. He had to assume Tràth and Douglas experienced the same difficulty.

  “Do you know what’s happened?” Tràth asked.

  When Munro opened his mouth to answer, he noticed several of the queens listening. He glanced at Tràth and gave a minute shake of his head as though to say not here.

  The faerie signalled his understanding with a subtle gesture.

  “Yes, what is going on?” Konstanze demanded, stepping forward from the crowd. “Your druids have something to do with this,” she said.

  Munro turned slowly, looking her up and down and raising an eyebrow, but saying nothing.

  “Why are none of your people here?” she asked. “I find their absence at the precise moment something damages the portal to the Halls of Mist most suspicious.”

  Resisting the temptation to tell her to shut up required all Munro’s willpower. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared straight at the leaping flows of the portal. Despite wanting to annoy Konstanze, the sight did worry him. What if they were cut off forever? If he’d missed the wedding, Eilidh would never have forgiven him, but he felt he should have been with the other druids. Maybe if he had stayed and helped, they could have avoided whatever had disrupted the portal.

  He shoved that foolish notion aside. He wasn’t the most important or the most powerful of the druids. Although he might have been the one to bring them to Caledonia, the ot
hers had proven at least as talented as he.

  Konstanze’s eyes flashed with anger. “Have you forgotten who I am?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she laughed shrilly. “And what about your little friend? The one who murdered my brother?” She glanced at those watching. “Did you refuse to meet my demands for her release because you understood her guilt and agreed with my sentence? Or was your pride greater than your honour?” Konstanze shook her head and tutted at him. “It’s a pity that you’ll take your queen down with you.”

  “Your brother? The sadistic bastard who got off on beating up women?”

  “Lies!” she shouted. A strong wind buffeted out from her and shoved Munro back several steps. He stared at her. He hadn’t expected a physical attack, but she looked poised to strike again, despite the onlookers’ gasps of surprise.

  Tràth stepped between them. The young prince waved a hand and a glimmering shield of air appeared around Munro. “Your Majesty, in your understandable grief for your brother, you forget yourself.”

  The other faeries backed away, careful to avoid the charged portal. A man in formal regalia approached Konstanze from the side and whispered in her ear. She shook her head sharply and waved him back.

  Munro felt sorry for Konstanze, even though she was the source of his present problems. Had she not known what her brother was? Or had she known all too well and spent her life covering for him? Before Ulrich’s death, the druids had gotten along fine with the Ashkynen queen. That one event unravelled so much.

  Konstanze moved forward, so close she nearly touched Tràth. “I stayed my hand until after the ceremony out of courtesy to your mate. Queen Eilidh is not without charm…or power. But know this: the moment I return to my kingdom, the human murderess is dead.” Her shimmering pale lips curled into a smirk. She lowered her voice to a scarcely audible level. A sudden shift in the air kept the sound close and prevented anyone from overhearing. “Her and her demon child.”

  “You would kill a faerie child?” Munro said, incredulous.

  Her eyes sparkled with delight at his reaction. “A lethfae child,” she corrected him. “The offspring of a murderess and a cruel, despicable faerie. My brother was a waste of royal seed. What possible reason would I have to want the abomination to live?”

  Munro stared, speechless. He’d understood she was ruthless and angry, but he hadn’t anticipated she might kill the boy.

  “All you have to do,” she said, her voice a sickening purr, “is make right the portal and allow me and my people to pass unharmed. When we arrive safely in the Halls of Mist, denounce your false draoidh claims. The woman and her child will become your problem. Keep them in Caledonia, away from my people, and I will pursue them no further.”

  Munro wondered what had happened to make her give up her claim on the boy. Her closed expression gave away nothing.

  Long moments passed, the pair of them staring at one another with Tràth between them. Others from all the kingdoms watched from a barely discreet distance.

  When he looked in her eyes, he believed she meant what she said. She would kill a four-year-old. The threat to execute Demi sickened him, but he understood Konstanze’s desire for revenge. With no evidence indicating Demi hadn’t committed murder, plus her confession, his hands were tied. But to kill a child? Out of pure, vicious spite? Out of anger that Eilidh had been granted the lands Konstanze assumed would go to Ashkyne?

  He glanced away, repulsed. How could he not do as she demanded? How could he justify allowing her to kill a small child when he had the power to stop her by saying a few words? Surely a temporary lie was worth saving the boy. Even if it meant a setback in the druids’ relationship with the fae, he had to pay that price.

  He glanced up at the portal over her shoulder. The events in the Halls of Mist that confounded the portal were out of his control. All he had to do was convince her on that point. Then he’d say whatever she wanted, at least until he brought Demi and Jago safely to Caledonia.

  The ground shuddered hard, then suddenly stilled. Voices around him chattered. Konstanze beamed with triumph. The portal shimmered calmly, as though the disruption had never happened.

  ∞

  Huck stayed close behind as Demi rushed towards Jago’s wailing. Other faeries raced by in the chaos. They ignored the pair, either repelled by the ward stones or too wrapped up in whatever magical force so severely disrupted their equilibrium.

  Demi paused at a door which was surrounded by four Watchers. The floor had stopped trembling, but they still appeared weak and sickly. Without a thought to her safety, she ran past them. They didn’t even come out of their stupor long enough to question her.

  Huck followed her in. Jago lay on a bed on the far side of the room, moaning loudly. Demi let out a strangled cry as she hurried to him. Brown smears of dried blood covered the boy’s pillow. Fresh red droplets balanced on his eyelashes. She scooped him up into her arms and murmured to him in German.

  The child’s arms wrapped around her and he clung to her. Rocking him back and forth, she kissed his face and held him tight.

  “Is he all right?” Huck asked, frowning. Jago hadn’t stopped crying.

  Demi didn’t reply. Clearly, she didn’t want to say no, but couldn’t say yes.

  Huck understood and didn’t press. “We need to get him out of here. I don’t know what’s going on, but Leocort seems to think it’s druid magic. This could be the others working to help our escape.” He slipped his rucksack off his shoulder and dug around inside, then pulled out the well-worn bear Lisle had given him. “Hey, little man,” he said. “I’ve got someone here who’s been missing you.”

  Jago’s crying slowed when he caught sight of the bear. He snuffled and hiccoughed, but at least the gesture distracted him. He glanced up at Huck, his red-rimmed eyes wide. “Please,” he said in English.

  Huck grinned. “You bet.” He handed Jago the bear, and while the boy cuddled his friend, Huck took a cloth from his pack and used it to wipe the stains from Jago’s face.

  “Mama?” Jago said. “I want to go home. I don’t feel good.”

  Demi held him, worry playing across her face and drawing her forehead into a tight frown.

  Although Huck had intended to take them to a gate to the human realm and to avoid the soldiers at the portal, considering Jago’s state, time wasn’t on their side. “I think we should head for the portal.”

  “Will it take us home?” Demi asked.

  “Yes. To the Druid Hall.” If she didn’t want to make the Halls of Mist home, she could leave someday, when they were safe. They’d work that out later.

  Demi nodded. “Thank you,” she said.

  “We have to hurry. Whatever is making the faeries sick appears to be getting worse, judging by the sounds outside.”

  “What about Leocort?” she asked. “Where is he?”

  Huck held out his hand, and she took it. After all they’d been through, the contact seemed natural. “We’ll look for him on the way out. But if he’s sick, we may have to leave him behind. I can’t carry him all the way to the portal.” He looked into her eyes. “If a day comes when he wants to join us, I promise we’ll make a place for him at the Druid Hall.”

  She pursed her lips but nodded.

  Huck offered to carry Jago, but both mother and son refused, so he held Demi’s hand as they left the chamber. The faeries who’d guarded the door lay unconscious on the floor. Huck frowned. Whatever the druids were doing, they weren’t supposed to kill everyone.

  He retraced their steps to the main stairway, suspecting the floor above the Watcher’s keep was ground level and would have an exit.

  They found Leocort at the stairwell, slumped in a corner. Huck released Demi’s hand and knelt beside the Watcher. “Are you okay?” he asked, wary of even touching the ailing faerie.

  Leocort’s eyes fluttered open, but they stared out, glazed. “Our magic is gone,” he said. “We’ve been severed from the source.”

  Huck’s mind raced. Severed? He’d h
eard of that. Severing was a punishment used to separate a faerie from their magic, usually done, as far as he remembered, just before an execution. He’d heard it was a painful, terrible experience. “All of you?” he asked.

  Leocort nodded. “None I’ve seen are untouched.”

  Huck worried for Jago. He had no idea what severing would do to a half-druid, half-fae child, but he was obviously in some distress. Worse, Huck had no clue if any damage caused was permanent, or if Jago and Leocort would be fine if Huck could get them to the Halls of Mist. “Come on,” Huck said. He leaned down and put his arm around Leocort’s mid-section, then pulled the faerie to his feet.

  “No,” Leocort said. “I’ll slow you down.” His body was too weak to protest.

  Huck didn’t want to argue. Half-carrying the faerie would slow him down, but Demi would never forgive him if he didn’t try to save the person who’d tried to save her. “Will you serve the Druid Hall?” Huck asked.

  Leocort’s eyes rolled back in his head. “Yes,” he said.

  “Then start by making an effort here. I’m not leaving you behind.”

  The stairs were the worst, but once they got to the main landing, Leocort at least attempted to carry his own weight. He leaned on the druid as little as possible, but was unable to let go.

  They passed many faeries as they hobbled towards the portal. Most were unconscious, but some sat, glassy-eyed, as though their souls had been ripped from their bodies.

  The group took twice as long to return to the portal’s dais as Huck had needed to get to the castle in the first place. When they arrived, his hopes were crushed. The familiar blue glow of the shining portal had vanished. The dais stood empty. Those who guarded the kingdom lay motionless, like fallen soldiers.

  Demi stared, her expression wild and desperate. “What will we do?” she said.

  Huck exhaled. They would need half a day to travel to a gate to the human realm, even longer if Leocort’s strength faded. They had no food and no options. “We wait,” he said.