Caledonia Fae 03 - Enemy of the Fae

by India Drummond

  Chapter 17

  “Eilidh,” Munro called and sat up in bed with a start. He woke from a sleep so deep, he felt as though he was returning from another world. He sensed his love drawing near.

  Had his encounter with the Source Stone been a dream? Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. The change in him had been real.

  After a moment of blurry confusion, he recognised the guest room in the Caledonian Hall. He lay alone on the swing-bed, naked and draped over the blankets. His body retained the defined musculature of a young, strong human, but his skin shimmered. He went to a mirror hanging on the far wall. His hair had once been a sandy blond, but now it shone gold. What struck him most, though, was his eyes. They swirled a deep, ocean blue like the eyes of the fae.

  The well of his magic called out to him. He visualised it clearly, as a pit of pure, clean clay, waiting to be moulded into whatever shape he wanted. A heady sense of power rushed through him, telling him he had the power to create anything. The entire universe, all the universes, would bend to his touch.

  Voices trailed from down the hall as Eilidh approached, accompanied by others. He sensed their essence, their magic.

  The queen walked into his room, and he turned slowly and smiled. She stared in disbelief. Her thoughts rang clearly, almost as though she mind-spoke to him. Whatever changes had taken place strengthened their bond enormously.

  “Quinton?” she asked. The surprise in her voice echoed the expressions on the faces behind her.

  He didn’t have to answer. The question was a reflexive comment, Eilidh’s way of stalling to give herself a moment to take in what she saw. She recognised him, if not by his face, then by their bond. Even though he stood naked in front of a group of faeries, all staring at him, he felt completely unashamed.

  “You touched the Source Stone?” she asked, her emotions betraying that she already knew the answer.

  He tilted his head.

  “You’ve changed.”

  “I am what I always have been,” he replied.

  A worried expression crossed her face. She turned to the faeries behind her. “Speak of this to no one.”

  The others exchanged apprehensive glances.

  Munro stepped forward. “I am draoidh,” he said with a growl. “If you utter one word before your queen gives you leave, I will send you to Ifrinn myself.” How did I learn that word? he wondered absently. His vision blurred as a blue glow emanated from his eyes.

  Eilidh blinked at his words, and the three faeries paled. “Yes, my lord,” one of them said and bowed. The other two followed suit. Taken aback, Eilidh didn’t correct their form of address or the fact they showed more respect to him than to her.

  “Go,” Munro said, waving a hand toward the door. The trio scurried away quickly.

  “What happened to you?” Eilidh’s tone was hushed and reverent, but he felt her fear. Was she afraid of him or of the uncertain future?

  “Come here,” he said softly, reaching for her hand. He pulled her into an embrace and kissed her forehead. She melted into his arms. “Don’t be afraid,” he said.

  “You appear like a faerie to my senses,” she whispered. Pulling back, she looked into his swirling eyes. “How can this be? How can a stone turn you from human into a faerie?”

  “It didn’t,” Munro said, brushing his hand through her white hair. “Don’t you see? I haven’t changed. I’ve been awakened.” He thought back to his previous life as Quinton Munro, beat cop on Scotland’s city streets. He would never be that man again. He motioned to a side room and led Eilidh in, then sat beside her on a low, inclined seat. “I began to suspect when I read the Killbourne Wall.” He told her how he had interpreted the runes on the monument, and the story of the twelve druids who created the first Otherworld gate. “One interpretation might be that the humans who fashioned that portal arrived in the Otherworld, met the fae, and developed a relationship. They may have learned from them, eventually developing bonding magic.”

  Eilidh nodded. “I have heard of the Killbourne Wall, however, few have the skill to read it themselves. It isn’t a tale often taught. Its runes are ancient, complex, and the story has been a matter for debate and controversy. I know only that the artefact is a rare piece that relates a fable.”

  Munro shook his head. “The Killbourne Wall is no fable. I sensed the creator’s intent clearly.”

  “You said one interpretation. What is the other?”

  “The draoidh were powerful sorcerers. They didn’t discover the Otherworld. They made it. They didn’t meet the fae, but created them with their hands. On the other hand, perhaps the fae were their descendants. Either way, those draoidh were the fathers and mothers of your race.”

  “But…” Eilidh’s voice trailed off.

  “I understand now why the draoidh were held in such high esteem. They created the Source Stone. They had the ability to fashion talismans to detect and activate deeper magic. Can you imagine what it would mean if Aaron, Rory, Douglas, Phillip, and I had the understanding to make an artefact that powerful?”

  “Great Mother of the Earth.” Eilidh leaned back. “Do you think it’s possible? Do you believe yourself to be as powerful as the draoidh in ancient times?”

  “We don’t know how to imbue life or magical flows, but we’ve been fumbling in the dark. Each of us experiences a strong compulsion to create. Who knows what we will do once we all touch the stone? I do know this, I’m not the same man I was two days ago. The Source woke something fundamental in me. My mind opened, and I sense power. Mine, yours, theirs,” he gestured toward the corridor. “You see the truth in my eyes,” he said. He wanted to tell her so many things, including what Ríona said about the draoidh taking any mate they chose in ancient times. He intended to make Eilidh his. But this wasn’t the right moment.

  She nodded. “You say nothing has changed in you. If that is true, then it can at least be said this discovery will change everything about everyone else.” Her mind ticked as she methodically went through a range of ideas. He watched her in wonder, feeling closer to her than ever.

  “This isn’t why you came here,” he said as the understanding hit him.

  “No,” Eilidh replied. “I brought news I needed to tell you myself.”

  Munro grew tense. With everything happening in Caledonia, what news would bring the queen in person? “What’s wrong?”

  “Flùranach and Rory disappeared. We suspect they went to the human realm. The elders wish you to bring them back. As a policeman…” her voice trailed off. Munro couldn’t walk the streets of Scotland without raising a few eyebrows in his current state. Not to mention that with his new status, the conclave wouldn’t exactly order him about as they once did. Another complication, she thought, and Munro wondered if she’d intended for him to hear it.

  “I’ll go. I need an azuri fae to accompany me, one who can disguise my features as well as their own. Someone we trust.”

  Eilidh stood, her relief palpable. “Dress and gather what you need. We’ll return to Canton Dreich. I need to talk to Griogair.”

  “If we hurry, I can pass through the gate before dawn. Which one did they use?”

  “Obar Dheathain,” she replied. “Near the city you call Aberdeen.”

  ∞

  Rory couldn’t see the sun from the tiny hotel window overlooking the street, but the light faded. The Otherworld gate would open within minutes. Every hour they stayed in one place was one more opportunity for the Watchers to find him and Flùranach. Her magic changed their appearance, but she wasn’t adept enough to cloak her magical presence from other faeries.

  The red light of the digital alarm on the nightstand ticked over one more number. Rory was starting to lose faith the guy from the museum would show. They’d waited half the day. “Flùr,” he said. “I’m thinking we should move on tonight. Maybe a place by the airport can rent us a car.”

  “What about the druid?” she asked sleepily. She lay curled up on her bed. “You said he’d come.”
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  If he really was a druid. Rory sighed. “You’re right. We should wait for him.” First-hand experience told him the change must’ve already begun. Whether they stayed or not, his druidic powers had started to unlock. He’d need help. “I wish he wasn’t taking so long. What’s he waiting for?”

  Flùr sat up and shrugged. “Who can predict what humans will do?”

  A few hours stretched by in silence as they waited. Rory paced while Flùranach rested. Finally he flicked on the telly, unable to bear the quiet any longer.

  “Is it so bad, being alone with me?” Flùranach asked. Her tousled hair hung around her shoulders and she pulled her lips into a pout.

  “Don’t,” Rory said.

  “Don’t what?” she giggled.

  “Don’t flirt with me.”

  “And why not? Don’t you like me?”

  Rory stood from his own bed, walked to the loo, and shut the door. He weighed his options. Maybe they should go back. At least Flùr should, if he could manage to convince her to go. He would stay behind and wait for the druid. Either way, he had to get away from Flùr. He couldn’t be what she wanted. Sure, she was beautiful, and what guy wouldn’t respond to her? But he’d always treated her like a little sister. The image of her as an eight year-old refused to leave his head, no matter how pretty she was or how hard she threw herself at him.

  He looked in the mirror, as if staring hard enough would force everything to make sense and the right answer would pop into his head. With a sigh, he leaned over the sink and splashed cold water on his face. When he straightened, he jumped back in shock. His hair had turned bright blue. “Flùranach!” he shouted.

  A muffled gale of laughter came from the bedroom. “Like it?” she asked. “Let me see!”

  He had to get away. He loved her, but he shouldn’t be this close to her, alone, with her flirting like this. Jerking the door open, he strode into the bedroom and gathered his wallet and the change he’d dropped on the dresser. “Time to go,” he said.

  “But your hair!” she squealed. “It’s pink! Won’t people laugh?”

  “What?” he said and glanced in the mirror behind the dresser. She’d coloured his hair neon pink. The change was only an illusion but not one a human mind could penetrate, not even a druid’s.

  “Fix it,” he said sharply.

  “No,” she said. “I like pink.”

  “Goddamnit, Flùr.”

  “I don’t want to go home,” she said. With a playful wiggle of her fingers, she shifted the illusion a second time. Black and white striped fur covered his skin. With pink hair on top. She fell into another fit of laughter.

  Rory went over to her and snatched her off the bed, forcing her to stand. He shook her shoulders. “Stop!” he shouted.

  Her eyes opened wide, and her smile disappeared. “I was only playing,” she said softly. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. “Why don’t you want to play with me anymore?” She dropped the illusion, and his appearance returned to its natural state.

  “Flùr,” he said, gently releasing his grip and running his hands down her arms. “Everything has changed. You aren’t a little girl anymore. We can’t be like we used to.”

  She leaned forward. “Then let’s play as adults do.” She kissed him on the lips, but he pushed her away. She fell back and sat on the bed.

  “We can’t be like that either. Jesus. You’re eight years old!”

  “How long was I unconscious?” she asked.

  “Two weeks—a half moon,” he replied. Didn’t she remember?

  “In that half-moon, I saw a thousand years’ worth of time. I wasn’t unconscious. I remember everything.” She shook her head. “I’m not a child anymore.” Despite her assertion, her voice sounded small.

  He knelt in front of her. “I don’t understand what happened to you. None of us do. But this doesn’t seem right. I can’t be what you want.”

  “All I ever wanted was for you to be my druid.”

  “I would if I could, but this isn’t meant to be.” He pitied her. Nobody understood what she’d been through. She needed a friend, but being alone with her frightened him.

  “Would you truly?” she said, watching him.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “If there’s one thing I learned from the time stream, it’s that there’s no one future. Time holds more possibilities than we can count.” She looked at him strangely. “There’s no such thing as meant to be.”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but she gripped him with her magic. A noose of power wrapped around his neck.

  “I can touch your bond,” she said. “Just like with all the others. It’s an unopened flower, a nub. Your power has been unlocked, so its edges are more splayed than the man at the museum, who was still closed up tight. When my magic brushes against the end, it quivers. Can you feel my power?”

  Rory didn’t even have the ability to nod. He could barely breathe. Clutching at his throat, he fought against the darkness.

  “I have one too,” she said. “Mine has a long tendril. But when I try to touch yours with mine, it doesn’t connect.” Frustration rang in her voice. “Why won’t you bond with me?”

  “Can’t breathe,” he gasped.

  “What?” She looked at him as though she’d been far away in her thoughts. When she gazed into his eyes, she relaxed her grip barely enough. “If only I could knit the bond together, I would show you we are meant to be, as much as anyone else.” Her eyes went dark. “Did Munro tell you the words he said to the queen when they bonded?”

  Rory shook his head, still struggling. He could breathe a little easier, but not by much.

  “You’re lying,” she hissed. “I hear your thoughts! Why would you lie? You said you loved me!”

  “I do,” Rory said, the sharp pain in his throat causing tears to stream down his face.

  “Then tell me the words.” Her face had changed, and Rory was alarmed. This wasn’t the Flùranach he knew.

  “Dem’ontar-che,” he choked out.

  “Now say the words again. This time like you mean it,” she said, tugging at his will.

  Unable to resist, his throat made the sounds. “Dem’ontar-che.”

  As soon as the words came out of his mouth, pain ripped through him. Agony consumed him. He wanted to hide in unconsciousness, but Flùranach wouldn’t let him go. Her mouth met his. Small fingers pulled at his clothing. Her body pressed against him, and skin met skin. He had no control. His flows wrestled against hers, but he stood no chance against her enormous power. The more control she took, the more she revealed of her own mind. The view terrified him. Her consciousness appeared like a great, roaring abyss.

  He couldn’t even look away. She held him down, body and soul. He thrashed in his thoughts, but his body wouldn’t respond to his commands. Against a magical being of her power, he never stood a chance. She took everything from him and forced him to watch, his mind screaming in protest.

  Suddenly, voices sounded in the room, but Rory couldn’t respond. Strong hands wrestled Flùranach away, and he was released. Weeping, he curled into a ball beside the bed.

  A man’s hand touched his shoulder and pulled a blanket off the bed to cover him. “It’s okay, Rors. I’m here.” Munro. “It’s over now. You’ll be okay.” Even though Munro stopped Flùranach’s physical assault, her presence welled inside him. She stole his bond. Nothing would be okay ever again.

  Chapter 18

  Munro paced the hotel room floor, waiting for someone who might never arrive. His undirected rage kept him in motion, even though he tried to calm down. If this supposed druid did show up, Munro had to move carefully with him at first. Christ, what a mess.

  He didn’t even know who to be angry at. Flùranach was the obvious choice, but having gone through an intense transformation himself, he questioned whether she should be held entirely responsible. Plus, no matter how old she appeared, she was eight years old. A child by any standard. Rory made his share of dumb choices, but Munro had been a cop
long enough to know you don’t blame the victim for things they can’t control. The druid was no match for Flùranach. Oron should have watched his granddaughter more closely. Eilidh perhaps shouldn’t have come down so hard on Flùranach, which indirectly led to the girl running away in the first place. And guilt rested squarely on his own shoulders as well. If he’d been around more, maybe Rory wouldn’t have tried to do this on his own.

  His mind spun, and the powerful high he experienced after touching the Source Stone faded quickly. Although some changes had been permanent, he was starting to come down and feel very human again.

  Flùranach’s attack worried Munro for many reasons. His primary concern was Rory’s well-being, but what if any azuri fae could force a bond on a druid? Before, the prospect of kingdom status hadn’t worried him. Now they needed to attain the standing of the ancient draoidh, if for no other reason than to protect themselves.

  At Griogair’s insistence, Munro had brought three faeries to search for Flùranach and Rory: one azuri to disguise them with illusion and two earth faeries to act as trackers. It took all three to restrain Flùranach’s magic. If only they’d arrived earlier. Even five minutes might have been enough.

  The attack shattered Rory’s world. Time and patience would help more than words. Although the bruises would heal, Munro couldn’t yet gauge the extent of the psychological and magical injuries. Whatever flows Flùranach used to force the bond, Rory was experiencing serious pain. Unfortunately, the trauma of the assault meant Munro would need to take care when questioning him.

  Munro told the faeries to take Flùranach back to the Otherworld for Eilidh to deal with, and offered to let Rory stay behind to wait for the new druid. Learning Flùranach actually found one had been a bit of a shock. If she had the ability to gather druids, punishing her for her crimes became more complicated.

  When Rory heard Munro’s plan, however, he’d gotten panicky. Flùranach needed him, he’d said. The idea of a bond compelling him to follow someone who had violated him turned Munro’s stomach, no matter how remorseful she seemed afterwards. Rather than cause Rory more pain, Munro agreed to let him return to the Otherworld too. He wanted to go as well, but someone had to stay behind, and he was the logical choice. The faeries wouldn’t know how to talk to a recently unlocked druid.