Faeborne: A Novel of the Otherworld

by Johnson, Jenna Elizabeth

  And then a cold realization fell over Brennon. He slowly lifted his head, the coldness that had started in the pit of his stomach now spreading to his blood. He could feel his eyes flashing from one color to the next as his gaze fell upon Uscias. The Druid was absorbed in his ritual, still unaware of Brenn’s presence. The man held out a branch now, a wand of sorts, and the tip was glowing an odd, dark red hue. His voice was low and monotone, the archaic words he spoke bringing up images of deep caverns, clear lakes and ancient forests watered by cleansing rains.

  Brennon was certain the Corcorain siblings, and of course Uscias, were behind the vandalism at Ardun. If they’d come sneaking around during the day when he wasn’t around, it was very possible they had seen Seren at some point in time. The very thought made him sick with anger and fear. Had they seen her only once? Twice maybe? Had they seen him carefully pick her up and carry her back to the house after the incident with the chickens? Had they witnessed the blood ritual on Samhain Eve? What did they think she meant to him?

  Brenn ground his molars together as the beginnings of a headache pressed against his skull. If they thought he cared in any way for Seren, then they would find a way to use her against him. Considering Artur had learned about her through the gossip of strangers was not a good sign.

  “Brennon? Lad, are you well?”

  A strong, heavy hand fell upon Brenn’s shoulder, jostling him from his turbulent thoughts.

  “I am,” he said simply. Then, thinking quickly, he added, “there is a young woman staying with us, but she is merely passing through. She’ll be leaving soon.”

  Artur’s black eyebrows drew together. “She just showed up on your doorstep?”

  Brenn shrugged and added to his lie. “I found her huddled in the barn one day a month ago. She claimed to have run away from home. Her family abused her, and she felt she had no other choice.”

  It was close enough to the truth, and come spring, Seren would be gone anyway. The thought made Brennon’s stomach twist.

  “I know you have a good heart, Brenn,” Artur said under his breath, “but even a young, pretty lass can take advantage of that. Are you sure she isn’t pulling the wool over your eyes?”

  Brennon nodded once, returning to his position of leaning against the tree. “Aye, I am sure.”

  He wanted to drop the conversation, not because he thought Artur was prodding too deeply, but because he wanted to think without any interruptions. This new information about the townsfolk of Dundoire Hollow knowing about Seren was unsettling. Now, more than ever, he needed to get the mistletoe, if only to send the message he was on to the Druid’s devious schemes.

  For the next several minutes, and to Brenn’s great relief, Artur remained silent and simply watched the ceremony unfold. While volunteers constructed the scaffolding, Uscias walked around the grove, anointing each tree with the glowing wand. He wielded it the way a scribe utilized a quill, tracing ogham letters, triskeles and other ancient designs onto the bark of the trees. The marks glowed orange-red for several minutes, sending up white smoke as the brands slowly cooled and blackened, leaving dark etchings in the pale, ashy bark. Hundreds upon hundreds of similar marks scarred the trees, etched into their bark over the years to encourage growth, healing, power and a magic-infused crop of mistletoe.

  By the time the complex platform was complete and Uscias had climbed to the top, it was past midday.

  “It will take him hours to trim enough mistletoe for all of us, and even longer for those boys to move the structure to the next tree. What say you we go visit Creidne and see if the stew is ready?”

  Brennon nodded at Artur’s suggestion. The two men began to make their way around the circle of observers, some of whom had started heading down the hill toward the camp of food vendors as well. Although Brenn hadn’t cared about Uscias seeing him, he threw the hood of his cloak over his head anyway. The longer the Druid was unaware of his presence, the better.

  As they passed the scaffolding and the assistants standing below it, Brenn cast his eyes upward. Uscias was now using a golden sickle to saw through the tough wood of the mistletoe branches. The man in white, the supposed apprentice from earlier, was up there with him, holding out a great swath of his cloak to catch the falling branch. He was just lowering a great clump of freshly harvested mistletoe down to one of the boys on the platform below when his hood opened up enough for Brenn to catch a glimpse of his face. Not for the first time that day, he was struck dumb with shock.

  He knew that fair hair and those green eyes. Baird Corcorain.

  Brenn hissed an expletive, and the group of women standing in front of him turned and blinked in his direction.

  “Forgive my friend,” Artur boomed, clapping Brenn on the back. “He took a boar tusk to the shin the other day while out hunting. If he isn’t careful with his steps the wound ails him.”

  The girls’ eyes widened and they nodded, a few of them trying to appraise what they could see of Brenn. “I’d best get him something to eat and some ale.”

  And with that, Artur led Brenn by the shoulders down the path of the hill and away from the center of attention.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ultimatum

  “When did Baird Corcorain become Uscias’ apprentice?” snapped Brenn, the moment they stepped free of the oak grove.

  A few other townspeople, heading back up the hill with baskets of hot rolls and mugs of ale, mead and tea, cast the pair looks of concern.

  “Wait until we reach the tent,” Artur warned, through his teeth.

  Brenn drew his fingers into a fist. He did not want to wait. He wanted to march back up the hill, shake the scaffolding until Baird toppled over the side, and run him through with one of the daggers he’d strapped on before leaving Ardun that morning. Baird learning Druidic knowledge was like an infection in a bad wound. His evil would only spread. And if Brenn was on the verge of becoming Faeduihn, then so was Baird, if he wasn’t there already. The only difference was, Baird had accumulated his wealth of dark magic all by himself. No Morrigan or her lackeys and their heinous acts to push him as close to the edge of sanity as possible. Brennon didn’t need his enemy to have one more weapon to use against him.

  Halfway down the hill, Artur pulled Brenn off the trail and behind an outcropping of rocks. The younger man blinked up at him in surprise.

  Artur ran his fingers through his black, tangled hair.

  “Look,” he began, his eyes falling everywhere but on Brenn, “I won’t pretend I know what you went through when you were with,” he paused, then cleared his throat, “while you were gone from Ardun,” he amended lamely. “But isn’t there something you could do to get Uscias, Baird and Arlana off your back for good? It doesn’t seem like they are taking your threats seriously. And now, with Baird being,” Artur waved a careless hand in the direction of the grove, “in the process of becoming a Druid, maybe you could use your, your–”

  Artur was floundering again, and Brenn was ready for him to get to his point. “You mean my cursed glamour?” he asked quietly, his voice frighteningly calm. “Wrest control of his mind to convince him to leave me be?”

  His large friend swallowed and nodded carefully. “Yes, that. Before Baird moves from novice to graduate.”

  Brenn stood up straight and removed his hood, his black hair standing out like a raven’s wing against the washed-out white and grey landscape. He leveled his pale eyes on Artur, figuring by the big man’s facial expression they were darkening to shades of soot and lead.

  “You do not know what calling upon that part of my glamour does to me, Artur, or you would never ask it of me.”

  Artur’s face paled beyond its usual, ruddy complexion.

  “Very well,” he managed, his voice coming out raspy. “I was only trying to help.”

  Brenn’s dark mood retreated, and he gave his head a slight shake. Of course Artur was trying to help. He had never done anything but offer friendship and hospitality to the two remaining members of the Roarke cl
an.

  Letting out a heavy sigh, Brenn reached an arm forward and grasped Artur’s shoulder.

  “Forgive me, old friend,” he breathed, feeling suddenly weary. “I know you and Creidne only ever mean well by me, and Rori. It was a shock seeing Baird Corcorain in that position. The whole thing gives me a bad feeling, and I’m afraid I took it out on you.”

  Artur nodded. “Come along lad,” he said, the usual cheer seeping back into his voice. “Let’s have something to eat and drink, perhaps even some mead if Creidne will open a keg. We’ll feel better once we’re fed, and maybe we’ll be able to think more clearly as well.”

  Brenn smiled, though it felt brittle and cold.

  As he and Artur came upon the miniature canvas and wood village, Brenn took stock of the wares for sale, grateful for the distraction. There were, of course, plenty of people selling ale, hot spiced mead, flaky pies, both the meat and fruit varieties, and sweet nut cakes. The scents of roasting venison, pork and simmering soups filled the air, and Brenn felt his stomach grumble. Breakfast had been hours ago, and he was famished. Besides those preparing and selling food, there were merchants present, as well. Trinkets carved from the rare wood found only in the Weald, silver and gold chains crafted from Eile’s renown mineral mines, potions and scented oils extracted from the rarest herbs growing in the meadows of the south … Everywhere Brenn turned, someone was enticing him to buy something. He gently turned away each offer. He was only interested in getting something to eat, visiting with Creidne and Artur for a spell, then returning to the oak grove to get his share of sacred mistletoe. And perhaps, if he was lucky, silently convey with his presence alone that he was not to be easily intimidated by the Druid and his underlings.

  Creidne was busy with customers when Artur and Brennon stepped under the canvas cover of the open dining area, so she didn’t see them at first.

  When she finished setting a basket of dark soda bread in front of a few patrons, she finally noticed them.

  “Creidne!” Artur boomed. “Look who I found on the hilltop!”

  Creidne remained still for a few moments, blinking in bewilderment. When her good senses returned, her hands flew to her cheeks.

  “Brennon! What on Eile has brought you to town on Solstice Eve? You’ve not been in years!”

  Before getting an answer, the tall woman stepped forward and threw her arms around him.

  Brenn huffed in surprise, reluctantly returning the hug. He couldn’t begrudge one of the only people in Dundoire Hollow who didn’t hate him. And besides, the physical contact didn’t bother him nearly as much as it usually did.

  “Oh, it is good to see you again,” Creidne said, stepping back and holding him at arm’s length.

  She studied his face all too intently. “There is something different about you, Brennon Roarke,” she added, in a curious tone.

  Brenn furrowed his brow, wondering what she was talking about.

  “He just learned that Baird is Uscias’ new apprentice,” Artur put in, speaking quietly, so his wife’s two customers wouldn’t hear.

  Creidne flinched and dropped her hands to her hips. “None of us is happy about that. But no, that’s not the change I’m detecting. It’s something else.”

  She lifted a hand to her chin and tapped her lips with an index finger. “You don’t seem as withdrawn into yourself,” she finally said. “You’re more like you were before–” she caught herself and clucked her tongue. “You just seem different, in a good way. Like there is a little more light shining from you.”

  The Faelorehn woman smiled, her hazel green eyes sparking and turning to topaz. “I’m very glad to see it,” she finished, before pulling both men over to a small table set within the three walls of the tent.

  Once two tankards of ale were placed before them, Creidne got back to work preparing the next round of meat pies and stirring the cauldron hanging over the fire. When everything was cooking and simmering to her satisfaction, she sat down next to her husband and took a deep breath.

  “So, you have learned the unfortunate news about Baird.”

  Her eyes had gone hard again, and all the humor had left her face.

  “As we were leaving the harvest to come down here, he caught a glimpse of the little bastard’s face beneath his hood,” Artur confirmed.

  “Why did you not send word?” Brenn asked, studying his tankard of ale.

  “We just found out ourselves, only a few days ago,” Artur admitted.

  Creidne nodded her head, her fly-away hair like a corona of red ferns framing her face. “By accident. I had to make a late night run to the butcher’s because I had misjudged our meat supply, and on my way there, I happened past Arlana and Baird. I overheard part of their conversation. The Druid’s name was mentioned, which wasn’t a surprise since those three are like peas in a pod, but then, I also heard Baird say something about being out late because of his lessons and the upcoming Winter Solstice obligations. I told Artur the moment I got back from the butcher, and we concluded Uscias must have finally accepted an apprentice.”

  Brenn’s fingers tightened around the wooden vessel holding his ale. He couldn’t be angry with Creidne and Artur. They just happened to be the purveyors of bad news.

  “Now, enough about that awful, power-hungry toad and his lap dog. I want to know how you are doing, Brenn. Word around town is you have a young woman staying with you.”

  Creidne reached out a hand and clasped it over Brenn’s forearm. He shot his gaze up to meet hers. The woman’s eyes simply shone with joy, and her smile was pure delight.

  “Might this be the reason for the brightness I detected in your spirit earlier?”

  Brenn gave a slight shake of his head and told himself to practice patience. Creidne meant absolutely no harm, and considering her and Artur’s children were grown and out in the great world of Eile seeking their own adventures, she had no one else to mother but him. And she was wrong about Seren. Completely wrong.

  “I’ll tell you what I told Artur,” Brenn said, his voice a little more clipped than he’d meant it to be. “She is a runaway, escaping an abusive household. Her stay at Ardun is temporary.”

  A slight pang of regret bloomed in Brennon’s chest. He might try to deny Seren meant anything to him, but it was a fool’s errand, and he knew it. He leaned back in his chair and retrieved his arm from Creidne’s grasp to rub at the imaginary ache.

  Creidne matched Brenn’s posture and let out a long-suffering sigh.

  “That is too bad,” she murmured. “It would do you good, young man, to find a nice woman to settle down with. I know it isn’t my place to butt into business that isn’t my own, but I can’t help it. You, and that nephew of yours, deserve just as much happiness as the next person. A nice young woman to become part of your family, to offer comfort and love to both you and Rori ... Now, that would be a blessing indeed.”

  Brenn clenched his teeth again. Seren was a nice young woman. More than nice, there was no denying that. But despite the fact she was born and raised in Eile like the rest of them, she was from an entirely different world. Her spirit longed for the deep, wild heart of the Weald. Her soul was made of light and joy and summertime. His soul was plagued with darkness, a wasteland perpetually trapped in winter. They couldn’t be more opposite to one another. And even if he longed to keep her by his side, he would not risk contaminating her. In fact, if not for the geis keeping Rori safe inside the boundaries of Ardun, he would beg Seren to take the boy with her when she left. Perhaps, then, his nephew might have the chance for a happy, somewhat normal life. Brenn knew it was only a matter of time before the faeduhn magic won out and turned him completely Faeduihn. When that happened, he had no idea what he might do to Rori.

  “Now, that’s enough Creidne,” Artur chastised gently. “Leave the boy be. He’s still young and has plenty of time to think about settling down.”

  Creidne shot her husband a dark look, but the one she offered Brenn was all apology. “I’m sorry if I’ve pushed too fa
r, Brennon. It’s only that I care about you and Rori, and I know having Artur by my side, despite his sometimes gruff and inconsiderate manner, has brought me much joy throughout the years.”

  Artur blinked up at her then, his face, well, at least the portion of his face Brenn could see, a mask of confused astonishment. He lifted a great bear paw of a hand and flattened it against his chest, crushing his wiry black beard beneath it.

  “Me?!” he exclaimed, his voice higher than its normal growl. “Gruff and inconsiderate? When has that ever happened?”

  Creidne rolled her eyes and stood, smacking him good-naturedly with her towel. “All the time, Artur. You are just too oblivious to notice.”

  The big man snorted as his wife sauntered away to check on the pies and stew. By then, the patrons from earlier had left, and all three trestle tables were empty.

  Beyond the edge of the canvas awning, snowflakes floated down in tiny, feathery crystals, barely covering the ground and disappearing the second the boots of the passersby trampled over them. Against the low banks on either side of the wide trail and in between the places where vendors had set up their own tents, small piles of white powder had managed to accumulate. Several children, those too young to take part in the ceremony or help out with their elders in the tents, were laughing and playing in what little snow they could gather.

  Against his will, Brenn’s thoughts wandered back to what Creidne had said concerning Seren. Giving into temptation, Brenn let himself wonder what it would be like if he asked Seren to stay with them, and what it might feel like for her to say yes. He pictured the three of them: him, Seren and Rori, strolling through the fields of grain at dusk on a summer’s eve. He could envision Rori running ahead of them, trailing his fingers over the ripening barley, laughing as the wolfhounds guided him around stones and other obstructions. Brenn saw himself as well, strolling several feet behind his nephew, one arm placed protectively around Seren’s waist. They would stop near the Shallows, where the creek widened and tumbled over the small rock shelf to gather into a wide, waist-deep pool before continuing on its way at the other end. He would draw Seren close, his hold growing more possessive. And when he turned to gaze down into those deep brown eyes of hers, she would smile at him, and reach up to pull him down into a kiss …