None of her clothes would fit. The best she could find was a silk robe. It had once glanced her calves, but the hem now rested mid-thigh. Her new curves made it gap, revealing the roundness of her breasts, and it barely closed at her hips, no matter how she cinched the belt.
The nurse continued speaking, but what the woman actually said, Flùranach had no idea. She went out her door and proceeded out of her grandfather’s house with purpose. She would find Rory.
She stumbled, rushing toward the druids’ villa like a colt first learning to walk. A roar sounded in the distance. Time followed her, trying to pull her back into its embrace, but she refused to look. Only chance and luck had protected her from being lost forever, from waking to find herself ten thousand years old. She stopped in her tracks as the thought floated around in her head. Her consciousness drifted back…ten years, a hundred, a thousand. The further she moved from now, the louder the roar became.
“Flùranach?” Rory’s call pulled her into the present moment. She heard him run toward her and knew he would save her. His arms enveloped her and lifted her from the ground. When had she fallen?
Thank god. His thought seeped into her awareness and thrilled her to the core. He was as happy to see her as she to see him.
Rory carried her into the house then helped her stand.
“Whoa,” Phillip said when he saw them. Flùranach met his eyes. As soon as they locked gazes, she sensed his deep earth powers. He could do so much more than he realised.
“One day, you will be able to walk on the surface of the water as though it was solid ground,” Flùranach said distantly. She sensed a small bud at his centre, and knew instinctively it was the cord with which he could someday bond a faerie. A shadow passed over his face. “If you live long enough.”
He stared at her. “If I live?” He glanced at Rory, then back to Flùranach. “What happened to you?”
“Flùranach?” Rory said quietly. “When did you wake up?”
She turned to him, and her heart crumpled. His bond was not a natural fit with hers. “No,” she whispered. “I can’t allow it.”
“What’s wrong?” Rory said. He pulled Flùranach close. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said. “Don’t you worry.” To Phillip, he added, “Get Oron. Quick.”
Chapter 9
Munro took charge of the library research, with Ríona teaching him at a feverish rate. He used his newly emerging ability to interpret the runes on dozens of stone monoliths. She instructed him how to touch the runes without changing them with his stone magic, to sense the runes around the original, feel their sway without being overcome by their own meaning and the runes influencing them.
Munro listened to the runes himself, needing only the guidance of someone more experienced. Now that they were looking for the right rune, the sorcerer mark, they found hidden knowledge in many old stories. The pair took to sleeping in the library and working into the daylight hours, sometimes forgetting to eat until someone brought them a tray of food.
Oszlár or one of the other keepers who had watched Munro craft the druid rune would sometimes observe their research, sitting quietly, then disappearing without a word.
The further back in history they went, the more the tone of the stories of druids changed. In the tale Ríona had read to him that first day, human bondsmen and faeries were distant, even enemies. But when they looked for the rune draoidh, they discovered a different context. The draoidh lived with the fae, worked with them, even sometimes teaching them. They created powerful talismans and were masters of rune creation. The fae revered them and their writings. For a faerie to mate or bond with a draoidh was the highest honour. Ríona explained that historically, draoidh were thought to be fae sorcerers, not bonded druids. Learning the draoidh may have been human turned every one of the stories on its head.
They learned more every day, and Ríona warmed to Munro, as though seeing him through new eyes. “Why,” she asked him one day, “did you choose the rune for passion to be the first you crafted?”
The question seemed out of the blue, and Munro didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t tell her about Eilidh’s letter, that he was the queen’s lover, or about the message he found in her signature. “I sensed something when I saw it once before, but I don’t remember where. I felt its heat but wasn’t certain. I thought if you wrote the same rune, you’d confirm my instincts.”
“Interesting you chose the same one as the rune for the queen’s name.”
Munro shrugged, hoping he looked nonchalant. “I suppose, but I knew instinctively it was a different word. I suppose that was the first clue something had changed.” He considered. “Eilidh was the one who unlocked my druidic abilities. Perhaps it’s appropriate.”
“I’ve heard stories about you,” she said, her tone taking on a low, seductive timbre.
“Oh?” Munro tried to hide the inward grimace. He knew exactly what she was referring to. Griogair would gallivant around, seducing every faerie who would consider bedding a human druid, and did so while wearing Munro’s face. The prince took perverse delight in embarrassing Munro and appealing to his lovers’ desire to touch a forbidden pleasure.
Munro stretched and stood, hoping to distract her from the topic of his supposed sexual exploits. “Where shall we start today?” He gestured to the stone slab in front of them. “Is there something else produced by this same creator? I found his style smooth and easy to follow.”
The tactic must’ve worked because Ríona frowned at him. “I have no idea. We do not track the creators of the runes.”
“Really? They aren’t signed or marked?”
She shook her head. “But I understand what you mean. Some creators have a technique of putting stories together, of choosing one rune over another similar one. As I study their work, I sense their voice strongly. I regret we don’t know who created these groupings. But, what you suggest isn’t our way. Inscribing a name would change the story, as adding any rune would.”
Munro understood. He was still accustomed to the human way. When he found a book he liked, he would search for everything by the same author. By imbuing his magic into a story, the creator of a tale had so much influence in each rune’s meaning. To write his name on it would seem a vanity.
“But…” she considered for a moment. “I do know of a tale contemporary to this one possessing similar features.” She paused, looking uncertain.
“Lead the way,” he said. Noticing her hesitancy, he added, “If that’s okay?”
“Perhaps we should continue with the current plan. I have a list of others in mind. To change course would likely be a distraction.”
Munro sensed something was wrong, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. He might not have Eilidh’s astral magic to probe someone’s mind, but he’d been a cop long enough to know when someone lied. It fuelled his curiosity and made him determined to see the runes. “We’ve been working our arses off. I think we can afford a distraction. Besides, we might be here for years. A little pleasure reading can’t hurt.”
“Pleasure reading?”
“I mean for recreation.” When he realised what she’d thought he meant, he fought to keep from blushing, but resisting the heat on his cheeks never worked. It flustered him. No one had affected him like this since he’d first been with Eilidh. He needed to get back to her. They’d been apart too long.
“If you wish to read about pleasures, I am familiar with some extremely erotic pieces. I may need to teach you a few things.” She paused to look into his eyes, her wide-set gaze swirling. “New runes, I mean.” She reached out to him, her fingertips grazing his chest.
Munro took her hands in his, squeezed them gently, and let go. “We’d best stay closer to the track.”
She looked down, and he worried she might be hurt or insulted, but she smiled. Whether she was sincere or hiding disappointment, he wasn’t certain. “You are not easily distracted, once you make up your mind. One might even say stubborn,” she said.
He gav
e a small laugh of relief. “You wouldn’t be the first to say so.”
“All right then. This way.” Ríona led Munro to a rune chamber not too far from the one where they’d taken their respite. The chamber itself was larger than many of the others, and Munro quickly saw why. A granite wall towered twenty feet above and stretched fifty yards along.
“I should warn you,” she said. “This story is not considered of much academic value. Not only that, the creator used old and obscure runes, and not many people can hear the intent clearly. We may be here a long time.”
“Is that why you hesitated to show me?” he asked.
“Partly. It’s…what’s the word…this rune grouping has caused some dissension among scholars.”
“It’s controversial?” he asked.
“Yes. There are varying interpretations, and even the keepers don’t agree. Each new analysis conflicts with every other.”
“But something here reminded you of the last one we read?”
“It’s a silly thing, hardly worth mentioning. I thought of it because you asked about the identity of the creator. In that last room, I noticed a grouping of runes I’d seen before. When I was a student, I studied this piece. Because of the variety and age of the runes used, the keepers use the monument to test vocabulary as part of becoming a researcher.
“The stone is called the Killbourne Wall. It came from a mountain in Andena.” She walked along, then pointed to a grouping a couple feet above Munro’s head. There the stone was highly polished and contained a set of five runes: one in the middle and one in each direction surrounding it. “This exact configuration appears in the centre of the stones we just read.”
“A signature?”
“Both sets fit their respective story precisely, but the coincidence is remarkable. Otherwise, the two pieces have little in common.”
“What is the story?” Munro asked.
“That’s the odd thing. This tale is considered a fiction, a myth, if you will. That in itself is unusual for our people. Even the foundations of children’s tales lie in our long history. This wall’s runes teem with symbolism; for example, the repetition of the number thirteen.”
Munro put his hand on the stone. The flows drew him in. He sensed the presence of the creator as though he stood in the room. “Tell me,” he murmured to the rock. “Tell me your story.”
“Munro?” Ríona’s said, stepping forward. “Are you all right?”
“Shh,” Munro whispered. “I can hear him.”
In the evening (night, midnight, darkness) of the old moon (lantern), when my brother (comrade, friend, companion) came to me and said he could tolerate no more of this world.
I feared his intention was killing (murder, suicide), and I sought to comfort (soothe, subdue) his fever (heat). Together, we formed a pact to satisfy his needs, and planned to reveal the bargain to the other sorcerers in our clan (sect, coven).
For our intentions to come to pass, we required (needed, desired) a construct (talisman, building, object) such as none had created before. My brother and I could not accomplish this alone. For he was not the only of our clan whose mind was haunted with the toils of the world, the dual-life we all led.
My brother and I intended to create a door (portal, gateway) to another life, one with hope and peace, without stifling limitations tearing (ripping, cutting, cleaving) our minds.
When we spoke to our brothers and sisters in our clan, we were divided. Some refused, some were afraid, but some knew the love I had for my brother, and in my desire to save him, I intended to save us all. After thirteen days of conclave, those who would join us numbered twelve and twelve. Those opposed, only two.
We struggled (argued, fought) with (about) the methods for a year and one moon. We bled into stone. We sweated into wood. We wept into water. We sang into air. Those of time formed the web. Those of blood shaped the flesh. Those of the stars cast the thought. Those of spirit invited the soul.
Munro stopped, blinking away tears. He read aloud, and the runes spoke to him as though the creator whispered in his ear. He knew the creator hadn’t been a faerie, but a druid. No wonder the faeries had been shocked at Munro’s assertion that sorcerers were, in fact, druids.
What tore at him was that he’d been taught only four types of druids existed, and that they could only use earth magic: stone, wood, water, and air. These runes spoke of druids touching the higher flows—blood, astral, time and spirit—just as the azuri fae did. The creator mentioned women in the clan, but Munro had been taught only men could be druids. The sense of loss overwhelmed him, but he pushed on.
The stone described a ritual in detail, but as Ríona had suggested, the story read more like a fable than an instruction manual.
When we finished the foundation (structure, construction, base), the clan appointed me as scribe, so I laid the words of power given by each of my brothers and sisters. Each one imparted (gave, imbued, embedded) their most dear wish (dream, love) and sacrificed (surrendered) their self (ego, embodiment, life).
The moment was both beautiful and terrible. We wept at what we had created. But in the end, we crossed into our creation using the Source Stone, into the Otherworld, as we named our new home. We would be the fathers and mothers of a magical race. We numbered twelve and twelve, but we would become more.
Ríona staggered back from Munro. “You misheard the runes.”
“You know that’s not true,” he said quietly.
“The druids may share a rune with sorcerers, but we may have lost a common term in ancient times. This is not rune lore we fully understand.”
Munro’s body ached, and he felt weary, but he believed what he’d heard in the stone. This was the fae creation story. These twenty-four druids created a portal to the Otherworld, leaving behind the human world to create their own reality. Whether or not they were the only druids to come to the Otherworld, they had to be the first. He didn’t know whether the text suggested the druids had created the fae race or the fae were their descendants, or how either of those things might be possible.
“Our fathers,” Ríona spat, “were not human. A thousand scholars with many lifetimes of knowledge and wisdom have read this stone and none ever heard the story you just devised. Besides, it is a fiction. At best, an allegory.”
Munro shrugged. What could he say? He hadn’t written the story, only read it aloud.
“Anyone,” she went on, “who would suggest such a thing, who would tell such lies, would be an enemy of the fae.”
Neither of them had noticed three elders sitting in the back of the immense chamber. When he saw them, Munro wondered how much of the story they heard.
Oszlár stood. “Calm yourself, Ríona,” he said sharply. “You are not a child.”
Ríona stopped short. She quickly schooled her features, masking her inner turmoil. “Yes, keeper,” she said. “You are right. This story always affects me deeply. I only fear this human doesn’t understand how a slight misinterpretation of one or two runes might infect the meaning of an entire tale, especially one such as the Killbourne Wall.”
“I need to speak with Queen Eilidh,” Munro said. “I’m going back to Caledonia.”
Oszlár held up a wrinkled hand. “Draoidh,” he said to Munro. “We honour your efforts to add to the knowledge of our people.” He inclined his head in a show of respect. “The tale you heard is remarkable, but we do not yet understand what your interpretation means. I wish to talk with you, to better appreciate your extraordinary understanding of the runes. The keepers will discuss this matter. We hope to have the opportunity to teach you more, and learn what we may from you as well. Perhaps we can enhance the knowledge of both our races. We will send a message to your queen soon. If she can spare your companionship long enough, we want to confer with you as you decide how to proceed.”
Munro looked at him. Oszlár gave a small bow, then each of the other keepers mimicked his movement. “The honour will be mine,” Munro replied.
Chapter 10
/> Munro stepped through the portal, and Eilidh’s presence filled his heart. He felt whole and at peace again. He detected frustration and anger but also a quiver of joy running through their connection as she sensed him setting foot within the Caledonian boundaries. Three weeks without her had been far too long.
He took the trip to Canton Dreich slowly to allow time to think. He ran the long roads through the Otherworld, taking in the simple wonders of the place: the songs of the water, the jewel-like blooms on the side of the road, the ancient trees covered with hanging moss.
Questions plagued his mind. Did the druids create this plane of existence? The magic was beyond his comprehension, yet since he’d met Eilidh, he’d seen many things he couldn’t have understood before. But how had they made something out of nothing using a portal? Did they actually shape this realm or simply discover it? Were the humans settlers in a world already populated by the fae, or were those druids the ancient fae ancestors? Fae lore dated long before human history, but with the aid of temporal magic, who knows what might have been possible?
He didn’t have answers and wondered if they would ever know the truth. Despite the keeper’s polite requests, Munro sensed his interpretation of the runes would trouble most fae as much as it did Ríona. He thought about his new friend. She was beautiful, certainly. But unlike Eilidh, Ríona was complicated, secretive, aloof. It made her seem mysterious. Had he not been committed to Eilidh heart and soul, he might have responded to her allure. But nothing would tempt him away from the one he loved more than life. He only hoped to politely deflect her attraction without disrupting their work. Despite what happened with the Killbourne Wall, he had no intention of stopping his research. In fact, this new discovery tempted him with centuries of untold secrets of druidic power. The work gave him a sense of purpose he hadn’t realised had been lacking.
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