“What…?”
“Grandfather. He absolutely adores cheese. They can’t make the stuff in Faerie for some reason. I left him some.”
Orlagh snorted. “I would have given him some if he’d asked.”
Eolande shook her head. “Asking creates an obligation. This way the cheese is a gift from a relative, and therefore not subject to the stringent rules.”
“Rules? Fae rules?”
Eolande nodded. “Every interaction between human and Fae must follow precise rules. Obligations are the most common interactions. Some are well known to humans, such as the Fae not liking cold iron. Others are less well known. Like falling for a… well, suffice to say, there are many rules.”
“Like falling for what?”
Eolande shook her head, but her cheeks grew pink. “Nothing that concerns you, Orlagh. Truly.”
Orlagh narrowed her eyes. “Eolande, stop being evasive. You know I won’t stop until you tell me.”
With a long sigh, Eolande played with the ends of her hair. “I fell in love once, long ago. With a mortal.”
Tawnith squawked, and Orlagh blinked. “Long ago? You’re barely my age!”
Her friend’s laugh tinkled across the clearing. “You should know better than that by now, Orlagh. I appear your age, that’s all. I’ve lived for many winters in this world and in Faerie.”
Orlagh blinked several times, unable to absorb this incredible story at the moment. She would have to puzzle out the implications of that later. Instead, she concentrated on the details she could digest. “And is that why you live in this world now? Because you broke a rule about loving a mortal?”
She nodded. “Fae may lie with a mortal. Such an act is perfectly acceptable, even encouraged. But to give your heart? That’s forbidden. I was banished.” For several moments, Eolande didn’t move, staring into the distance with a wistful smile. Then she glanced down at the beautiful, complex knot she’d made with her hair. She unknotted the knot with obvious frustration and sudden anger.
Orlagh poked the dying coals with a stout stick for a few moments, throwing up sparks and crackles. “Can you never go back to your home, then?”
“Perhaps someday. I may have to do a favor to some other Fae to be granted such an indulgence, though.”
Orlagh’s blood grew cold. “Would they make you do something… something evil? Something dangerous?”
Eolande gazed off into the distance again. “Very likely, but they wouldn’t recognize their task as evil. The Fae have a different set of moral rules than humans do. There is no Brehon Law, for instance. However, they must play within certain stringent boundaries. Even then, some outliers flout even Fae law, usually to their detriment. Sometimes justice is slow, though.”
Orlagh didn’t want to think about her friend, her closest, dearest companion, subject to some horrible penance for simply following her heart. “Can I do anything to help?”
With a bitter laugh, Eolande shook her head. “No, nothing you can do. You’re a human, after all.”
Orlagh bristled at the tone and clenched her jaw. However, Eolande softened her comment with a smile. “Humans have little power in the world of Faerie, Orlagh. I appreciate your offer, but there is little you could do. In fact, you’ve done much just by being my friend, as my grandfather said.”
Orlagh took her hand and squeezed. “Does your grandfather… have I created an obligation to him?”
After eating her bit of cheese, Eolande shook her head. “No, that’s precisely why he didn’t ask for any favor. There is… some sort of history between your family and mine. I’ve never been able to learn more details, but we’re connected in some way, many generations past.”
“But your family only moved to Ceann-Coradh when I was ten! How could that be?”
The Fae girl shook her head, her white hair fanning out. “Not my human family, silly! My Fae family. My mother was human, but, as everyone has suspected throughout my life, my father was part Fae. Grandfather is his father.”
Orlagh blinked several times. “Oh. And here I thought they were insulting you by calling you changeling.”
Her friend laughed, the sound twinkling across the meadow. “But they were! A changeling is when you switch a human child with a Fae child without the mother knowing. My mother realized full well what she was getting into with her Fae lover. She didn’t stay in Faerie long, but said she longed to return her entire life. Faerie was a lost dream, a time immemorial. Some days she would stare into the treetops, or the clouds, or a still pond. She wouldn’t move for hours, just pining away for the magical land.” Suddenly, Eolande dropped her gaze. “In the end, the longing for it may have been what killed her. Others have gone mad from the longing.”
Orlagh chewed and swallowed her chunk of bread. “Well, I’m glad I defended you, then. Why have you never told me all this before? I’ve asked about your family many times.”
Eolande stared at her and said nothing. Her eyes flashed the way her grandfather’s had. Then she blinked a couple times and shook her head. “Sometimes the Fae blood pushes through, usually when I talk about my past. Such urges are difficult to suppress, so I didn’t want to give the power an excuse. Acting human isn’t always easy when the Fae part of me pushes through. Suppressing the power takes a lot of will and strength.”
Her friend’s shoulders drooped as if she’d been carrying a heavy weight for many miles. Orlagh scooted over to her and hugged her tight. Eolande was so frail beneath Orlagh’s arms, she was afraid of snapping her friend’s bones, but Eolande was tougher than she appeared.
A hoarse cough echoed through the meadow, and after a few moments, one of the tent flaps wiggled. One of the twins emerged, scratching his sleep-tousled hair and his eyes mostly closed against the dim morning light. Orlagh peered up. At least the morning’s rains had petered out to a soft misty day.
After relieving himself in the river, the boy glanced up and spied the two girls sitting at the edge of camp.
He stared at them with his mouth open for several moments before he shot into the large blue tent. Several muffled curses, some banging noises, and a shout were all Orlagh could hear until the tent opened to reveal Temuirr.
He looked rough. His skin was paler than she remembered. He appeared thinner, too, though only a fortnight had passed since she saw him, back before her misadventure with the river. His hair was hopelessly mussed, and he only wore loose leggings. He stared at her with his mouth open in an almost comical tableau.
Orlagh stood, unable to take her eyes off him. Even in dishabille, he looked wonderful. She longed to run up to him and jump into his arms like Eolande did with her grandfather, but she mustn’t. He must be quite shocked to see her.
He still hadn’t moved. The boy ran into a third tent. After a few moments, Yana emerged, fully dressed and perfectly presentable. She must have already been awake.
Yana approached her first. The bard woman held both her arms out as she came close. “Orlagh! How delightful to encounter you, child!”
Orlagh was growing mightily tired of everyone calling her a child. Wasn’t she an adult, free woman now, by law? What was the point of going through that entire ordeal if nothing changed her treatment? But Yana wouldn’t know about all that, would she? Orlagh smiled and put her own hands out, covering Yana’s in greeting. “It took me ages to find you! But I’m so glad I did.”
She stole a glance toward Temuirr, who must have recovered from his shock. He brushed his hands through his hair, getting the worst of the tangles smoothed. He finally smiled.
The clouds parted and bathed him in a shaft of sunlight.
At least, that’s how it seemed to Orlagh. His smile was a thing of beauty, and her knees buckled beneath her. Eolande supported her without even a glance. Orlagh was grateful to her friend, but even more grateful for Temuirr’s smile. She’d dreamed of his smile for days and still hadn’t remembered every detail.
She’d had the horrible feeling he had, after all, left to get away from her.
That he truly desired nothing to do with her and didn’t love her or want her in the slightest. His sweet smile belied her fears. His welcoming face banished her doubts and warmed her soul so much, she grew flushed.
Orlagh smiled back and then had to drop her gaze. She could feel the heat of a blush on her skin and resisted the urge to touch her cheeks. When she glanced up, he still smiled, and she let out a relieved breath. Everything would be all right.
With a pointed glare at Temuirr, Yana led her to the firepit. “Come, Orlagh, sit and rest. You must have traveled fast to catch us. However did you find us?”
Orlagh glanced back at Eolande, but the girl gave a bare shake of her head. “We just got lucky, I guess. I… I followed my heart.” She cast another longing glance at Temuirr, but he had returned to his tent, presumably to dress properly. Both twins emerged and set about reviving last night’s banked fire. They both waved at her as they scampered into the brush for firewood.
Eolande and Orlagh both sat around the glowing remains of the fire and Orlagh turned to Yana. “Weren’t you were staying in Ceann-Coradh for a while longer? I was surprised when I found you’d gone.”
Yana frowned. “Your chief asked us to leave. He daren’t make us leave, and we resisted as long as we could, but in the end, he made us too uncomfortable. A chief can make a guest feel unwanted even while staying within the letter of the guest-right law, you know. We liked the people there, and made many friends and received useful gifts. In the end, though, we had to move on.”
Orlagh furrowed her brow, thinking of the old man’s words. “Received gifts?”
Yana chuckled. “Our polite way of saying we were paid well for our performances. Coin, food, supplies, whatever we were offered. Gifts are a way of ensuring not only continued performances, but also lowering retribution.”
Orlagh didn’t want to ask yet another stupid question, but she was truly curious. “Retribution?”
The older woman stirred the firepit with a stout stick, causing some sullen sparks to fly. Making a small hollow, she blew on the sparks. One of the half-burnt logs in the center glowed slightly at her breath. “Have you ever angered a bard? A true bard can write a satirical song and spread his tune across the land, damaging your reputation for generations. No one wants to risk such infamy, so bards are generally treated with respect and generosity.”
Orlagh realized the truth of Yana’s words. A song was a mighty weapon, and could seriously damage a chief’s power. In fact, Chief Diarmait had risked exactly such response with his slights at Ceann-Coradh. Orlagh was about to ask if a satirical response was planned for her chief when Temuirr emerged, dressed in a breathtakingly bright blue léine and off-white leggings. His hair was under control, though Orlagh longed to run her fingers through it and muss it again.
He came and sat next to her at the firepit. He turned to her and took her hand in his. “So, what brings the fair Orlagh to our humble camp this day?”
Orlagh tried to answer, but the words stuck. Panicking, she turned to Eolande who shrugged as if to say, this is your show, not mine. Orlagh turned back to Temuirr and cleared her throat. The bare truth was the best option at this point. “I… I wanted to visit you.”
He blinked several times and furrowed his brow. “I understand. I wanted to visit you, as well, but this is quite a distance from your home to travel on a whim.”
She steeled herself against the tears and lifted her chin. “Ceann-Coradh is my home no longer.”
He raised his eyebrows and shot a glance at Yana. “Indeed? And why is that?”
Orlagh glanced at Yana and then Temuirr. The old man, Finnegan, emerged from the smallest tent and sat next to Yana. She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. “I’ve been emancipated from my grandfather. He tried to marry me off to Caiside, and I refused the marriage. So now I’m free to marry you!” She turned to Temuirr, smiling fit to break her face. His own smile slipped slightly at these last words, and he looked to Yana again.
Yana stood and extracted a stone mug from the pile of dishes near the firepit. Pouring liquid from her waterskin, she offered it to Orlagh. “My dear, you must be bone-tired from your journey. Sit, drink, and relax for a moment, will you? I must speak to my brother in private.”
With a pointed glare at Temuirr, she stalked toward her tent. Temuirr followed her, the half-smile still frozen on his face. Orlagh peered into the mug and sniffed. It wasn’t water, but sweet mead. She took a good, long swallow, and it tasted delicious. It trickled down her throat and eased much of the tightness and worry from her heart.
Finnegan scooted closer to her and showed off his latest carving, that of a running horse. It was excellent work. The man was a true artist. She showed it off to Eolande who cooed in appreciation. That was when the first shouts came from the tent.
“What in Danu’s name are you talking about, woman? I did nothing of the sort! I barely kissed the girl!”
“You must have done more than that, else why would she leave everything she loves, everything she’s known all her life, to find you? She’s settled folk, but she pulled up all roots. No one does that without a great deal of pointed encouragement. You’d best make this right, Temuirr. That girl has given up her entire life for love of you!”
“That isn’t my fault! And how am I supposed to do that?”
“I don’t know, do I? Perhaps you finally found the right lass, after so many false starts. Woo her properly. Love her. Marry her. Have her touch your precious harp, whatever it takes.”
A crash sounded, and the tent walls shook.
“Are you mad, Yana? Stop that at once!”
“I said, make it right, Temuirr! Now!”
Orlagh glanced at Finnegan, but the old man appeared unperturbed at the row. A moment later, Temuirr emerged from the tent, looking considerably less ordered than when he’d entered. His beautiful blue léine had an enormous wet stain on the front, and there was dirt in his hair.
He knelt in front of Orlagh and took both her hands. “Orlagh. Did you leave your grandfather just for me?”
Orlagh nodded, unable to speak. She squeezed his hands, and he squeezed them back.
“Ah, you silly child.” He stood and drew her up into a hug. She trembled, unable to hold back the tears any longer. Sobs burst forth, and she howled in grief at her own stupidity. She’d obviously made a horrible mistake, and he didn’t love her. He considered her a foolish, impetuous child, just like everyone else. He might not even like her that much. She tried to pull away from him. Struggling did her no good, as he held her tight. “No, no, Orlagh. Stay here. Stay here.”
Yana’s hands extracted her from Temuirr and held her in a hug as Orlagh continued to bawl. “For a trained bard, you have no tact at all, brother.”
Tam and Cam returned from their fuel-finding mission with double armfuls of deadfall and plopped them into the firepit. They asked Eolande to join them for another trip, so she ran after them with a giggle.
Yana held Orlagh at arms-length and stared into her eyes. “You should rest a bit, my dear. Come, I’ll set you up in my tent.” She glared at her brother as she guided Orlagh away. Orlagh glanced over her shoulder to glimpse Temuirr biting his lip and looking pensively at the pile of wood.
The woman’s yellow tent was perfectly neat and spare. Everything had its place and was folded or hung with care. The colors were all deep tones of red, orange or brown.
“Now, you just nestle under the covers here, and I’ll bring you some food for when you wake. I’ll speak with my brother some more, but don’t you worry. This will all be fine. Get yourself some sleep, Orlagh.”
Fine. What a horribly vague word. Orlagh highly doubted it would all be fine. She doubted anything would be fine again. She would never be happy again. This was the fate she had chosen, as the old Fae had so strictly pointed out. What a fool she was! She’d gone tramping across the country after a promised lover, only to be laughed at when she arrived. She curled up, hugging her knees tight to her chest, and cried
herself out.
Eventually, she must have fallen asleep, for the sound of laughter drew her from groggy slumber. From the light shining on the tent walls, it was late afternoon. Her eyes were crusty with dried tears and sleep, and she rubbed them until they grew raw. A small water basin on a bench allowed her to wipe some of the grime and shame from her face. A bit of dried fish and some nuts were in a pile next to the basin. She tried to eat the fish, but found it hard to swallow. Every time she recalled her rash actions of the last two days, her throat closed in more sobs.
Finally, she gave up trying. Brushing down her skirts to get the worst of the wrinkles out, she strode out of the tent.
The others were all sitting around the firepit. Cam stopped telling his story when she appeared and all eyes swiveled to regard her. Holding her head high, she took the empty spot Yana, and Eolande made for her. She refused to glance at Temuirr but nodded to Yana.
“Thank you for the use of your bed, Yana. I was able to get some much-needed rest. I’m sure we’ll be on our way shortly and will no longer impose upon you and your friends for hospitality.” She almost choked on the word “friends,” but pushed through it.
Temuirr offered her a mug. Orlagh stared at it, but made no move to take it. She refused to look up at him, knowing full well she’d not survive that encounter with dry eyes.
Yana put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Take the mug, Orlagh. It’s just water.”
Without looking up, she fumbled for the mug and took an obligatory sip. The cool, fresh water was a sweet salve on her roughened throat. The sip turned into a full drink, and the mug was quickly empty. Yana poured it full again from her waterskin. Orlagh flashed a quick smile of thanks and drank more slowly this time.
Cam took up his storyline again. “So the farmer went out to his field, and couldn’t find the cow anywhere. He looked high and low, in the byre, around the house, and even under the wagon. The cow had completely disappeared from his land.”
Misfortune of Song: Druid's Brooch Series: #5 Page 12