Caledonia Fae 03 - Enemy of the Fae

by India Drummond

  She sounded angry, and everything about her aura felt tense. He wanted so much to get rid of Griogair and Ríona and take Eilidh into his arms, hold her, and ask what was bothering her. Perhaps she needed to confide her worries and fears.

  He was stuck. What option did he have but to go? He couldn’t argue with her or be alone with her, so he had to do what she obviously wanted him to. “You’ll send me a message if you need me?”

  “Of course.”

  With his back to the door, he met Eilidh’s eyes, placed his hand over his heart, and gave a quick bow. I love you, he mouthed.

  Her manner softened. I will miss you, she sent to him.

  Munro and Ríona left on foot. On the way, Munro lost himself in silence as he probed his bond with Eilidh. She was troubled and didn’t send him further mind-speaking messages. She seemed occupied. Between a murdered traitor and her step-son possibly involved with a mysterious illness that had so deeply affected Flùranach, who happened to be the favourite granddaughter of Eilidh’s most trusted advisor, well, things were complicated. The only thing he didn’t understand was why Griogair and Eilidh wanted him out of Caledonia.

  Finally approaching the portal that connected Caledonia to the Halls of Mist, they slowed their pace. “You have your token?” Ríona asked.

  Munro nodded. Eilidh had given each of the human druids a small disc imbued with her personal magic. The Watchers who surrounded the portal would not stop travellers leaving Caledonia, but anyone might be challenged when they returned. Munro doubted he’d have any difficulty even without the token. Despite being a lowly human, as the bonded druid of the queen, he was pretty famous.

  They walked up the steps of the immense round dais toward the blue sphere of light and stepped through. Pleasant tingling brought goose-bumps on Munro’s skin. He no longer had the strong physical reaction to the shift he’d experienced the first time he’d made the journey, but found the ethereal beauty no less a wonder. The Halls of Mist were as different from Caledonia as London was to Munro’s hometown of Perth, Scotland. The faeries here held as much variety as the human races did—even more so, since faeries’ skin sometimes had tinges of blue, green, pink, or brown. Each kingdom had fashions and some customs that varied as well, although most faeries were the typical aloof and quiet types. Just once, Munro wanted to meet a raucous and bawdy faerie.

  He smiled as he imagined what that would look like, but then froze. His connection with Eilidh had dulled to an unexpected and uncomfortable degree. She felt like a memory nestled in his thoughts. It was possible she’d shut the connection voluntarily, but that he’d just passed through the portal was too much a coincidence for him to think she’d done this. He realised they’d always been together when passing through the portal before, so neither of them had anticipated the disruption.

  “What’s wrong?” Ríona asked.

  He shook his head. He didn’t want to let on. “It’s always a bit of a shock. The magic is thicker here,” he said. “Humans feel it strongly.”

  “Have you been to the Halls of Mist before?”

  “Eilidh and I have visited three or four times since she became queen and once before.”

  “You should call her by her title,” Ríona said and glanced up, looking worried. “If I’m presuming too much, forgive me, druid, but the fae expect queens to be spoken of with more reverence.”

  Munro chuckled. “The fae can stick it up their arses.”

  “Stick…”

  “I met Eilidh as an outcast. I found her on the streets.”

  “But…”

  “Ríona, I understand what you’re saying, and I appreciate your good intentions, but Eilidh knows how much I respect her. So does Griogair. So does everyone who matters to me. I go along with the formalities when it’s required, but this is just you and me. If you’re going to help me, you need to accept one fact. Do that, and we’ll get along just fine.”

  “What fact is that?” she asked, eyeing him.

  “I’m human.”

  “I know.”

  “Yeah, you know, but you don’t understand yet.”

  “Apparently, it means you’re strong willed,” she said, finally allowing herself a small smile.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.” He looked around the immense courtyard. Dozens of bridges extended outward in perfect alignment. At the end of each bridge, a huge, clear dome contained a Hall for a different faerie kingdom. He glanced toward the Caledonian Hall, then back at Ríona. “So where’s this library?”

  “Come. This way.”

  Chapter 6

  On none of his previous visits had Munro even noticed the small, unassuming structure in the far side of the courtyard. It was scarcely larger than a neighbourhood quick-stop shop, not that the Otherworld had such things. As they approached, he saw runes carved into the smooth grey stone on either side of the entrance.

  The blue moonlight in the courtyard reflected on the fog hanging under the Hall bridges. Licks of mist crept inward at the edges. “What do these say?” Munro asked, gesturing to the supports.

  “Fae runes are difficult to explain to someone who doesn’t listen,” she said.

  “When have I not listened to you?” he asked, perturbed at the assumption he couldn’t possibly learn something as complicated as reading.

  Ríona paused, as though gathering herself. “Forgive me. You misunderstood. I didn’t intend to suggest you haven’t listened to me. I meant you cannot listen to the runes. The understanding comes in the magic of our blood, not the memorisation of lines and shapes. Come. I will explain as we work.”

  Inside the entry, Munro followed Ríona down a flight of narrow, steep, stone steps. He flushed with vertigo as they turned corners. They were now completely surrounded by fog. Somehow, it stayed back from the steps, allowing him to find his footing, and the azure moonlight filtered through enough to reveal the step below.

  “Where have you seen runes before?” she asked.

  Munro had to think. “On the Otherworld gates,” he said. “Eilidh has a small box with a single rune on the lid.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the token Eilidh had given him to identify himself. “This,” he said, and held it up for Ríona. He realised for the first time he rarely saw runes. “I saw a stone relic once with runes carved into it.” He shuddered as he thought about the object of power which had nearly been the cause of his death. A blood faerie had discovered how to feed its magic with the preserved hearts of druids. Three druids had died because of it, including his cousin Frankie.

  The pair stopped at a platform deep below the courtyard. Huge double doors towered over them. Ríona gestured at Munro’s pocket. “Show me the token again?”

  He held it up.

  “Do you understand what the rune says?”

  He placed the coin-like object in his left palm and traced a finger over the rune. “No. It seems familiar, if you get what I mean, but maybe that’s just because I’ve seen it so many times.”

  Ríona raised an angular eyebrow. “The rune means this,” she said, and held out her hand, letting a ball of light fill her palm, golden sparks shimmering from within. “It means eilidh, in the word’s oldest form.”

  “Her name means light?” he asked.

  “No. Light can be anything, a candle, a sunrise, a reflection. Eilidh is this.” She moved her fingers and let the light grow.

  “So fae language is complex, is what you’re saying.”

  Ríona chuckled and shook her head, letting the glow in her palm disappear. She pushed on the large doors, which opened easily. “No. Fae runes are simple, but you have to know them. How can you identify the rune for eilidh if you’ve never seen such a light? You asked what the runes on the doors meant. They translate as knowledge, but to imply their significance as simply knowledge is for me to describe what is in my mind with the word thoughts.”

  “How do you learn to read, then?”

  “We don’t,” she said with a smile. “Come. Let us meet the keepe
rs.”

  Munro was disappointed in the library itself. He had expected what any human would: stack after stack of books. He thought he would browse the shelves, which would be separated by topic, catalogued, filed, and organised. Instead, the bare room contained smooth waist-high black pillars with flat, round stones on them. On each stone was carved a rune. In the back of the room seemed to be a row of dark archways. “Can I poke around?” he asked.

  Ríona shrugged. “The keepers will be with us shortly.”

  He couldn’t see or hear anyone else in the crypt-like chamber. He stepped up and peered at a display. “How many runes are there?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I can translate around fifty thousand, the keepers a hundred thousand or more. We discover new ones the deeper we go into the vaults.”

  “You mean there are books here no one has read before?”

  “Books, yes, but mostly other things.” She smiled, her wide-set eyes settling on him as they might a child, but even a fae child would understand. “Runes are sometimes discovered all over the world. After the scholars of a kingdom have studied the artefact, they bring it here if they believe doing so will add to the knowledge of the race. Usually, if they cannot decipher the meaning, they present the object to the keepers. Most ancient runic artefacts will come to the library at one time or another. The most relevant are kept here so they can be made available to all scholars.”

  Munro turned when a door opened in the shadows on the far side of the room. A bent elder faerie shuffled out. He had to be the oldest faerie Munro had ever seen. Oron, who was over a thousand years old and one of the eldest in Caledonia, looked like a teenager compared to this elder. When the keeper finally came and stood with Ríona and Munro, he straightened his back and looked Munro in the eyes.

  Ríona said, “This is Keeper Oszlár.”

  A strange scent wafted into the chamber. Munro felt light-headed. “Have we met?” he asked.

  “No,” the keeper replied. “I would remember if we had.” He inclined his head to Munro. “You are the bonded druid of the Caledonian queen?”

  “Quinton Munro,” he said, trying to shake off the strange giddiness.

  “Her request was unusual,” Oszlár muttered.

  Munro chuckled. “This isn’t run-of-the-mill for me either. I’m confused though. I sort of expected books.”

  The keeper’s laugh sounded like the scratch of pen against paper. “Oh, we possess books, but they will hold little of interest.” He turned to Ríona. “Druidic lore?”

  She nodded in reply. “Yes, I thought perhaps we’d start in the five hundred range.”

  The keeper shook his head. “Further, I’d say. Twelve.”

  Ríona frowned, and Munro noticed again how pretty she was when she did so. “So deep? To begin?”

  The keeper shrugged. “That’s where I would go first.”

  She gave a slight bow. “Thank you, keeper.”

  She led Munro through a rear door, and they left the keeper behind. Even as they walked away, Munro could feel the old faerie’s eyes following them.

  ∞

  Ten minutes later, they were still walking. Ríona’s soft footfalls barely made a whish against the smooth floor, but Munro’s clomping steps echoed. They’d passed many open archways, and Munro peered into the rooms as they continued. The early rooms had more rune stones on pillars. The stones came in different shapes and sizes, and as they went on, he noticed groupings of stones or an arrangement of runes on a larger surface. Occasionally, he’d see a faerie in one of the small chambers with a rune stone, studying in rapt silence.

  They had taken several turns, and Munro decided he’d never be able to find his way out alone. He liked to think he had a good sense of direction, which had certainly improved with the physical changes he’d undergone since bonding with Eilidh. But this maze had no discernible markings in it. At first he tried to remember the passageway turns, mark the way by the different types of runes inside the chambers, but after a while, he gave up.

  He did notice that the further they went, the larger the rooms were and the more complex the configurations of rune stones inside. Some time later, Ríona stopped in front of an entrance. Inside stood a tall monolith of familiar grey stone. This piece had certainly been outside a long time; the elements had smoothed it.

  Ríona approached the tall stone with reverence. She circled the arrangement and ran her hand along the surface, caressing the carved runes.

  “Wouldn’t you find it easier to copy the runes onto paper and store them in a book? We must have passed hundreds of rooms that only had one stone inside.”

  “You think we’re wasting space?”

  He crossed his arms and gestured toward the immense, upright slab. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “I don’t mean you should get rid of them. I just wonder if this is an efficient way to store information.”

  “Let me show you something,” she said and ran her fingers delicately over the stone until she found one particular rune. “Recognise the shape?”

  He did. The lines were the same as those on his token. “Eilidh,” he said softly.

  Ríona shook her head. “No. This is teinntreach. It means this.” She raised a finger toward the ceiling and tiny sparks flew out of her hand. “But bigger,” she added with a smile.

  “How can one rune mean two different things?”

  “One rune can mean a dozen different things, or a hundred.” She tapped the carved symbols above teinntreach, below, and on either side. “These change the meaning of the rune, as does the stone itself. But most important is the intent of the one who created it and the magic he imbued into the heart of the object. If a rune creator copied this configuration onto paper,” she said, gesturing to the five runes, “they may mean something closer to your words burn or tinder. We may use many subtly different phrases to describe various types of burning, and teinntreach would be only one. Some creators are more gifted than others, naturally.”

  “So inscribing runes has nothing to do with the fae language?”

  “Not really, no. This stone contains power of its own, a message bestowed by the rune’s creator.”

  “But could you write down the language of the fae without these runes? Do you ever make a written translation?”

  “Of course we have script. But why would we transcribe the meaning when we can come touch the stone’s magic for ourselves?”

  “Can you teach me?”

  She shook her head. “I could show you individual runes. With much time and patience, I might instruct you in the influences and strengths of each one and how they push their meaning onto those around them. Sadly, I can’t teach you to hear the creator’s voice through the stone. Every fae child learns this before they learn to recognise even one symbol. I’m sorry.”

  Munro tried to shrug it off, but he felt a sense of loss. Somewhere in his mind, he’d started to entertain the idea of a new pursuit. Thanks to the bonding magic, he would live hundreds of years, or so he’d been told. He had time to learn. “So what’s this story about? Sparks?” he asked lightly, trying to cover his disappointment.

  “I know this tale well,” Ríona said. “It gives an account of a battle.” She touched the teinntreach rune. “An ancient battle fought against human swords of iron.” Her fingers glanced the surrounding runes, then moved outward from each of them. “A borderlands battle between a group of slaves and the fae of Andena. The Andenan queen died that day.”

  Munro raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He was surprised to learn the fae had ever dabbled in slavery. The practice seemed such a contrast to their seemingly noble ideals. On the other hand, humans had many barbaric events in their comparatively short history.

  The faerie woman became lost in the story. She described the cuts made with cold iron and the rumbling of earth magic as both slaves and their fae masters dealt killing blows. Sometimes, she would backtrack and go a different direction, following the runes around the slab as though following a
path through the woods.

  Munro was fascinated by the process. He listened intently as she worked, watching her circle the stone, feverishly relaying the story as though it was happening at that very moment. She became animated, excited, and unlike any faerie he’d ever met. When she finished the story, her eyes danced, as though she’d been caught up in the battle. She frowned when the tale ended, appearing reluctant to finish. For some long minutes, she walked around the stone, touching each of the runes, searching for any last scrap of meaning.

  “Nothing about druids then?” he asked.

  She looked at him for a long moment, then glanced away. “It surprises me there is nothing helpful here, considering how our people were once tied together. I had thought if I listened to this particular story again with bonding magic in mind, I may hear something new.”

  “There will be more runes,” he said, wanting to soothe her disappointment and cover for his own.

  She nodded. “This library contains thousands more. Tens of thousands. We have a lifetime of runes to interpret. After you and I have listened to them, another scholar may give you new insights to the same stories. Do not despair. This was our first night. Come. Let us go to the Caledonian Hall. Prince Griogair kindly arranged for quarters where we can eat and rest a while. Listening to runes can be tiring. After the darkest hour, we will return and find another story, if you like.”

  When he’d arrived tonight, he’d thought this project would take days, or maybe weeks. It wasn’t until this moment he realised they may need years to learn much of use. Why would Griogair be in such a rush to get him started, saying the druids’ work was so important? He must realise they had no hope of finding anything critical right away.

  “Ríona,” he began, thinking back to what Griogair said about the rune on the prison wall. “When does a rune mean nothing?”

  “When it is empty,” she said.

  “I’ve heard this phrase before, but I don’t understand.” He followed her out and along the maze-like corridors. Then suddenly the realisation hit. “When there’s no magic imbued in the creation.”