A Gilded Cage (Chronicles of an Urban Druid Book 1)

by Auburn Tempest

  “This is us,” Granda says.

  We drive through an arched opening in a tall, shrub wall and I lean forward in my seat. It’s amazing. White faery lights hang in playful swoops along the inside edge of the shrub wall. They ring the bottom edge of the house’s roofline too, and the pathway that welcomes us in.

  The one-story home is built into the side of a grassy hill. The rounded stone walls create an organic architecture while the thatched roof undulates over the different sections like a gnome’s floppy hats.

  OMG. My grandparents live in The Shire.

  Granda catches me staring and grunts. “It’s nothing like a city house, I know, but ye’ll do well not to judge. Our home is a treasured part of yer gran, and it’ll cut her deeply—”

  “It’s incredible.” I unbuckle my belt and slide out my door, mesmerized by the sprawling stone cottage. “It’s like something out of a dream.”

  “Och, well, it’s home, is all.” He swings his door shut with a clang and drops the keys into his pants pocket. “Come, yer gran is likely dizzy with impatience by now.”

  I follow Granda down a cobblestone path lined with blooming flowers. The scents of greenery and blossoms fill my senses and go a long way in settling my nerves. Ivy hangs in front of the handcrafted wooden door, and Granda waves his hand. “Out of the way, ye wee nuisance.”

  The vine flaps its leaves and twines up and over the rounded top of the door. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it listened to him. I’m lost in the wonderment of that thought when we step inside.

  I squeak as I’m caught up in a breath-constricting hug.

  “Lara, don’t crush the girl. She’s had a day.”

  Gran pulls back, and I blink. Wow, Granda is right. Other than her hair being white and pulled back beneath a daisy laurel, the similarities between us are astonishing.

  She casts her husband a look, and her brow crinkles like my father’s. “Ye took yer sweet time gettin’ home, oul man.” Then her attention shifts to me and her expression smooths out. “Are ye hungry, luv? Will ye take a cup of tea and some supper? Ye must be famished.”

  My stomach is so empty it’s cannibalizing itself, but it’s customary to refuse the first offering of Irish hospitality. I hold up my hands. “Don’t let me be a bother. I’m fine.”

  “I insist. It’s hot and ready fer ye.”

  “All right, thank you. I’d be happy to eat.”

  Gran takes me by the wrist and practically drags me through the house at a jog. The front and side walls of their home are stone, and they’re covered in living plants toward the back.

  We pass the wide trunk of a tree growing in the middle of the living room, and I’m staring backward at that when the succulent, buttery scents of colcannon and fresh bread hit me.

  My stomach lets off a thunderous roar as we arrive in the kitchen. I blush and place a hand over my rumbling belly. “That smells amazing.”

  “It was one of yer father’s favorites.”

  “It still is, although ours doesn’t smell half that good.”

  Gran winks and starts dishing out heaping bowls. “I’ll teach ye a few family secrets while yer here and ye can surprise him when ye cook it next. How does that sound?”

  “Wonderful.” With my emotions bubbling up, I swallow and try not to think about Da. I already broke down in front of Granda in the truck. One fall-apart is quite enough. Gran seems to sense my battle with composure and sets the bowls down to hug me.

  This time, her embrace doesn’t threaten to crush my ribs. The burning tingle of my skin subsides, and my restlessness eases in a rushing wave of warmth and nurturing energy.

  “There, now. That’s better, is it?” She squeezes my hands before turning back to the stove.

  “Much. Thank you.”

  I accept two steaming bowls of the potato and cabbage dish and head to the table. The kitchen and living room beyond are spacious and furnished in wood, stone, and living things. The glowing light from a dozen lanterns placed around the interior gives off a mystical, old-world feel.

  It’s quaint and welcoming—much like the two of them.

  The table is set with flowers and candles, and Granda points to my place. “Set those down, and we’ll wash up and settle in fer the night.”

  Granda leads the way to the loo and points inside the door when we arrive. “We have runnin’ water heated by pipes between the stone of the south wall, compostin’ toilets, and pretty much every convenience yer accustomed to other than electricity.”

  No electricity? It strikes me then, his comment about power troubles and not having a working phone, the candles and lanterns twinkling in the corners, and Gran standing before a cookstove. There are no candles in the bathroom, and still, a warm glow lights it.

  I lift my gaze and stare at the ceiling. This part of the house must be under the hill. The roof is blanketed in spongy green moss bursting with buds and blossoms. It glows iridescent white, blue, pink, and green, giving off as much light as anyone would need. “What is that?”

  Granda follows my gaze and smiles. “Bioluminescent fungus. Nature provides a great many wonders if ye take the time to learn about them.”

  “How is it possible?”

  “Ye asked me in the truck what we are. Well, Clan Cumhaill, from as long ago back as the Middle Ages, are druids. Our family and a few others in the area live in the ways of the ancient Keepers of the Earth. It’s something yer gran and I are proud of and part of the reason I contacted ye. I’m eager to teach ye more about yer heritage.”

  Okaaaay. Not sure what to do with that, but after the past couple of days, I’m willing to suspend disbelief.

  Druids.

  All right, it could’ve been worse.

  I blink up at the ceiling and my skin tingles. I reach up, and the glowing light intensifies. The fungi, flowers, and foliage are woven together in a symphony of living architecture above our heads.

  I trace the twining branches and blooms, sensing playful confidence in every nuance of them. “This might sound crazy, but I feel like the plants are aware of me somehow.”

  “Of course, they are. Every living thing has a predisposition to seek and sustain life. To do that, all things have intelligence, instinct, or awareness on some level. Think of plants reaching for the sun or roots reaching into rich dirt.”

  “Why haven’t I sensed it before now?”

  Granda nods and points inside. “I’m sure yer bubblin’ with questions, and we’ll get to them all. Wash up. If yer dinner gets cold, yer gran will take it out on me, and she’s a fierce one when she’s vexed.”

  I chuckle and close myself into the washroom, my mind spinning. Druids. My father’s parents are—and all our family before them were—druids.

  Crazier still—I lift my arm to the ceiling, and a little vine comes to hug my finger—I think it’s catchy.

  Chapter Six

  I wake to the scent and sound of bacon frying and a swath of golden sunlight blinding me. The blazing rays stream through all three of the round, portal windows in my room—the same one my father grew up in. I stretch and force myself to sit.

  Last night is a bit of a sloggy-brain blur. I met my grandparents, and we ate until I almost burst, then they took me next door to their neighbors and let me call home—I had to leave a message. Because of the time change, everyone was at work—then the night fell away in jetlagged exhaustion. I remember the most important part, though.

  We’re druids.

  That’s something Da might’ve mentioned in the last twenty-three years. I rub my hands over my face and shake myself awake. I still feel like something the neighbor’s cat hacked up on my back porch, but like Calum always says, there’s nothing bacon can’t fix.

  “Howeyah,” Gran says as I shuffle into the kitchen.

  “Howeyah,” I say back.

  Gran’s in good spirits, radiant in a cornflower blue dress and humming a jaunty tune. Today, a grapevine wreath decorated with sprigs of wildflowers replaces her daisy lau
rel. I pride myself on being a live and let live kinda girl, but if this is what “druid” means, it’s not for me.

  Hard pass on converting into a flower child.

  I’m far more endless night than sweet delight.

  The kitchen skylight is open, and birds fly in, pluck seeds and cut fruit from a serving bowl set out for them, then zoom out as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  “Ohmygawd…Gran, you’re Snow White.” I slap my hand over my mouth to catch my laughter and can’t believe I said that out loud.

  Gran giggles and her laugh sounds like a cheerful birdsong. “Och, not me, but Neve was a powerful and respected druid. Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm came upon her in the forest one day and the rest, as they say, is history.

  Seriously? Huh, who knew?

  Gran studies me, standing in front of her in Granda’s t-shirt and clucks her tongue. “I’ll have Lugh call the airport this aft and see about yer missing bag.” She hands me a plate of bacon and tilts her head to the table. “Fill yer gob, missy. The day is fast slipping away.”

  “Sorry, I’m usually an early riser.”

  “Och, well, I’m not a traveler myself, but it’s said a good laugh and a long sleep are the two best cures for anything.”

  I set the plate of bacon on the table and sit in my spot. Both the other places have been cleared. “Just me then?”

  “It is. Go on, now, help yerself.”

  I lift the lid of an old-fashioned tureen, heap my bacon plate with baked beans and eggs, and top it off with grilled mushrooms and tomatoes. “It must be the fresh country air because I can’t remember ever being this hungry.”

  Gran smiles. “I’m happy as a lark to keep ye fed. Make sure ye tell me if ye have a preference.”

  I finish chewing what is in my mouth and swallow. “The only one of the six of us who fusses about food is Emmet and only because he has a tricky stomach. I’m good. It feels weird though, filling my face while someone else cooks. I’m happy to earn my keep when you’re ready to put me to work.”

  Gran chuckles. “No fears there, luv. Lugh will keep ye plenty busy in the days to come. There’s so much to do and little time to do it.”

  Right. Granda said he only has a month left to live. I wonder more about what’s killing him, but he said it’s complicated and he’ll tell me in time. I respect that. I scan the inside of the expansive cottage and look out the windows. “Where is he now?”

  She drains the bacon grease into a container and takes the dishes to the sink. I can’t tell if her sudden frown is related to my question or an egg-crusted plate giving her a hard time. “There’s been a bit of a stir about yer arrival. A couple of the local druid families want to come by and give ye a scrutinizing once over.”

  I look at my reflection in the mirror, then down at the t-shirt I’m wearing. I’m a freaking disaster. “When’s that?”

  Gran shakes her head. “Don’t worry. I pointed out that everyone will gather at the Rose of Tralee Festival in a few weeks and they can meet ye then. That gives ye time to gain yer footing before yer put up fer display.”

  I exhale. “Thanks, Gran.”

  She turns from the dishes and winks. “My pleasure.”

  I finish my meal and join her at the sink. After slipping my empty plate into the sudsy water, I start clearing the table. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

  Gran points at a box sitting on the living room sofa. “I had Lugh dig out a bin of Niall’s things from long ago. Take it into yer room, have yer shower, and see if ye find anything ye can wear today. By the time yer dressed and ready, I’m sure yer granda will be back.”

  Fresh from the shower and dressed in a pair of my da’s old khakis belted around my waist and a black t-shirt tied at my hip, I feel almost human. There is a ton of good stuff in the box Gran gave me—a bag of marbles, toy figurines, yearbooks, mementos from places he worked—but I’ve wasted enough of the day already and opt to snoop through my father’s childhood when I have more time to soak it in.

  With my hair tied back and new spring in my step, I head out to find my grandparents. I smile simply thinking that word—grandparents. I am in Ireland with my grandparents.

  How freaking cool is that?

  “Great timing,” Gran says, her arms full as she heads through the living room toward the front door. “Help an oul girl out and grab the last of the lanterns, will ye?”

  I hurry to open the door for her, slip on my shoes, grab my sunglasses from the pocket of my purse at the door, and hook my fingers through the handles of the last five lanterns.

  “Line them up, here, luv.” Gran points to the stone half-wall that borders a little patio area in front of the house from the grassy lawn beyond.

  I set my lanterns by the others and let them start soaking up the sun’s rays to use inside tonight.

  “Right, then.” Gran picks up a cutting basket with a set of pruners. “That’s done. Let me show you around.”

  I fall in step, taking in the natural solitude. It’s a huge property bordered at the front and sides by the tall, thick hedge we drove through last night and a dense grove of trees beyond the back lawn. The shrub wall runs along the front and reaches off on both sides. It has a completely different feel to it than the city. “How close are your next neighbors?”

  Gran points off to the right. “The O’Rourkes are a cock-crow that way, and the Fowlers are three times that over there.” She tilts her head in the opposite direction.

  I see nothing beyond the top of the hedge other than the soft green hue of Irish hills stretching lazily into the distance. With no idea how far a cock-crow is, I figure I’ll learn as I go. “And are they druids too, your neighbors?”

  Gran smiles. “Most in these parts are simply culchie folk. As far as others like us, there are eight other families scattered across the isle. With heirs and descendants, that’s likely a few hundred all total.”

  “And do all descendants get the druid gift?”

  “Och, not at all. And as the years pass, that number dwindles. As the span of natural spaces disappears across the lands, so too does the fae magic, it seems.”

  “Across the lands? They’re not all here in Ireland?”

  “Och, that they were, luv. Many believe emigration is as much to blame fer the loss of magic as the lost wildness. Over the centuries, druids have married and moved to become Bretons, Cornish, Manx, Scots, and Welsh.”

  Gran sets her basket on the stone half-wall and presses her palms together. In a deliberate pattern of finger movements and sweeps of her hands over the plants, blooms bud and open. The power of her nurturing energy tickles my skin and raises the hair on my arms.

  She takes my hands and presses my palms together as she did. “Like this, luv. Palms together for the first position, then one full circle of yer fingertips…not that way, withershins.”

  “Withershins?”

  She holds up her finger in the air. “Clockwise is this way. Withershins is this way.”

  “Counter-clockwise.”

  Gran smiles. “Druids, pagans, and those of the fae prefer withershins. Right then, hands in the first position. Try again.”

  I press my palms together and follow Gran’s motions. Together we tend to her flowerbeds, relocate the weeds from the garden to their designated weed bed, and fill her basket with fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, and berries.

  Gran’s in the zone. It’s as if the earth and plants feed her soul. It’s cool, but…

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what’s the point? What do druids do? What’s the relevance of connecting with weeds and making friends with moss?”

  The breeze picks up and treats us to the floral aromas of what I can only describe as content plants.

  “Don’t look at it as what we do, but who we are.”

  “Okay, so who are we?”

  She leans back against the stone wall, and the sun warms the crinkles at the sides of her eyes. “Fae energy is the prana of the earth, the life source of growth,
the intelligence of animals, and the breath of plants. It is the essence and spirit in all nature. Fourteen centuries ago, during medieval times, druids were named as the protectors of that energy. Because of our dedication to preserving such a fragile resource, our ancestors were rewarded with heightened abilities. Those gifts help us fulfill our calling.”

  “And that is what’s been tingling inside me for the past couple of days—my calling?”

  She nods. “Yer natural power woke, but Lugh holds yer true magic. The innate gift ye possess is much stronger than what’s normally felt from a spontaneous bloomer. Lugh mentioned he got cross with ye yesterday at the airport. He didn’t understand this is all so new for ye.”

  “Whatever it is, it burst to life three days ago, and I don’t understand any of it.”

  Gran takes my wrists and presses my palms to the mossy ground. “Empty yer mind of the noise that buzzes inside yer head, no questions, no expectations, no turmoil. Nature will explain more to ye than I ever could.”

  I close my eyes and do as she says. Maybe it’s here or gran’s gift calming me or simply focusing on nature as she said, but a connection builds beneath my palms. It amps up, zings from my hands and up my arms.

  All at once, I am aware of the living force that is nature.

  From the rich earth beneath my fingertips, to the detritus and worms burrowing below the dark soil, and the moisture seeping drop by drop to offer the grass sustenance.

  “Can ye feel the strength of the sun’s rays feeding the plants and trees and wildlife?”

  “I can.”

  “That’s the power of the Earth Mother, our Divine Goddess.”

  I embrace the connection with the source energy, and it invades me. Heat surges from my arms into the core of my body, and I gasp when it fills my lungs.

  “Relax, luv. Druids are the conduits of earthly power. It will never harm ye as long as ye hold it in yer heart with reverence. Accept our Lady’s gifts and let her ignite your cells and wake ye to yer calling.”