Misfortune of Song: Druid's Brooch Series: #5

by Christy Nicholas

Still, he did have a conundrum to sort out. He would do a disservice to his race to open the doorway to Faerie. Fae creatures were, more often than not, the cause of much pain and suffering for humans. Did he have a duty to prevent increased contact? On the other hand, the land was that of his chief’s enemy, the Ui Conchobair. As warchief to the Ui Briain, his duty might be to increase their strife and danger. Still, in the end, they were all human.

  When all was considered, he’d made a bargain, and his word was his life and soul. To break a vow was against his very nature.

  “What is your decision, human? Are you going to fulfill the terms of our bargain, or will you continue to stand there, chewing your cud until the lights of Faerie dim forever?”

  Startled from his reverie, Maelan glared at Ammatán. “I am contemplating my options now. Kindly cease from interrupting me, and I will reach my decision more quickly.”

  Was his granddaughter’s well-being worth that of the people of Connacht? In his own heart, certainly, but in the grand scheme of things?

  He couldn’t do it. He simply could not justify to his own conscience the loosing of such evil upon the world to save one person, even if that person was his beloved granddaughter.

  His decision must have shown on his face, for Flidaisínn’s eyes grew wide. “No, Maelan, no! You must think harder. The news is important, and involves more than simply your granddaughter. Do not make this mistake.”

  More than his granddaughter? Perhaps the information was something which affected his whole tribe?

  Ammatán paced quickly, frequently glancing at the offending bit of iron. Finally, he appeared in front of Maelan, the fury palpable in his eyes. “Make a decision, now, tedious creature! For a race who live such pitifully ephemeral lives, you take overlong to act.”

  Anger burned within Maelan’s veins at the insult, but he shoved away his urge to punch the Fae in the face. He would surely be the loser in such a battle. Still, the creature had a point. He must make a decision.

  “Very well. I shall honor the bargain. I shall remove the iron. Do be certain you keep your end of the agreement. How shall I remove the horseshoe?”

  Ammatán roared with delight and disappeared, only to flash back several times around the area, always remaining a set distance from the horseshoe. Flidaisínn smiled so brightly, the blue glow from her skin shone like the moon at midnight. The sight took his breath away, and he clenched his fists to resist the urge to take her in his arms.

  She put a hand on his arm, gently caressing him with soft fingers. The touch sent shivers of desire through his spine. “You simply pick the thing up and toss the cursed thing through that cave mouth. That will break the affliction and heal the scars on our land.”

  With a determined nod, he walked to the offending object and picked it up. The iron was ice-cold like someone had left the horseshoe in the snow. He glanced back to the Fae to see them both quivering.

  He could toss it at them. The cold iron might just kill them both. That would free him from his debt and keep the doorway closed. They would also likely curse him to remain in Faerie forever, and he’d never know what news lured him to this cursed land. With a deep breath, he hefted the horseshoe into the black maw of the Faerie cave.

  He’d expected a clatter when the iron hit the stone of the cave, and perhaps a flash of light as when he entered this realm. He did not expect the world to explode.

  The earth screeched. The ground quaked beneath his feet and erupted in a dozen fumaroles of hissing steam. Flidaisínn squealed, and he pulled her close. He held her tight as enormous stones, and chunks of earth fell about them in a deadly rain. He ducked and ran, trying to shield her from the worst of the falling debris. Ammatán could protect himself.

  They fled from the raucous destruction he had wrought. Slipping on the slick, oily goo which coated the path, they scrambled toward safety. A heavy object hit his spine. He grunted, but kept running. Another knocked him on the head, and he briefly wished for his leather helm. Still, they ran, past blighted boulders and sickened trees. Some of the trees reached for them, branches outstretched in skeletal hands, but with some clever dodging, they escaped the traps.

  Finally, the land settled beneath their feet, and Maelan slowed. He panted to catch his breath. His side ached, his back was bruised, and Flidaisínn appeared wilted. Ammatán was nowhere to be seen.

  They looked back at the blighted area. The land roiled with destructive violence, churning and shattering with increasing power. “The worst of the turmoil is behind us, Maelan. I thank you for helping. We should keep moving, though.”

  He nodded, and they walked at a more sedate pace. Flidaisínn kept hold of his hand, and he didn’t mind. “Will you tell me the news now? Or must we track down your companion first?”

  She shook her head. “Ammatán’s presence is neither needed nor particularly wanted.”

  Maelan was glad she didn’t care for the other creature. He wasn’t particularly enamored of the thing himself.

  “Your bargain is fulfilled. There is more news now than there was at first.”

  “More news now?”

  “Yes. Would you like to bargain for the rest?”

  He stopped, crossing his arms. “Tell me the first news, and I’ll let you know if I want the rest.”

  She frowned. “The first news is… of your granddaughter’s mate. He is not right for her.”

  Maelan stared at her, incredulous. He went through all that effort for this? “This is your news? I could have told you that at one glance!”

  She shook her head and started walking again. “I do not mean he is not suited for her. He does love her and deeply, as you humans measure such things. But he loves many others. His affections are… divided.”

  Clenching his jaw, Maelan forced his anger down. “He’s cheating on her?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet, no. But he shall. There is no doubt. I have witnessed it in my visions. His very nature is more Fae than human in that regard.”

  “You are certain? The future is fixed? This is valuable information.”

  She nodded. “The details are important. The future can be changed, but not his nature. Ammatán would not have clarified.”

  He took her hand again and grinned, squeezing her hand. “Then I am glad you who told me the news, and not him.”

  She smiled, but did not look at him. They walked thus for some time before she asked. “Will you want the other news I have, then?”

  He chewed his lip as he considered. “What is your price?”

  She licked her lips. “There are several payments I could ask. I could once again ask for the Fae brooch you carry like a talisman.”

  “I will not part with my brooch. I told you.”

  Flidaisínn nodded, her smile turned sad. “So you did. What if I were to ask you to remain in Faerie?”

  He halted again, pulling his hand from hers. Was he to be eaten by the mad Fae after all? “You seek to trap me here?”

  She shook her head, her blue hair swinging. She played with a pebble on the path with her toe. When she did look up, he fell into her black eyes. “No, no trap. I would not trap you. I wish to… ask you to stay. To be with me.”

  To remain in Faerie… and be her lover? Not necessarily. She could be wanting him for a meal, rather than a lover.

  She took his hand in his. Her skin was cool, but her touch was gentle. He looked into her eyes, and he realized Flidaisínn didn’t wish to harm him.

  She was achingly beautiful, as all Fae were, but she was also terrifying. The pale blue skin and cat-like eyes overlay an otherworldly creature, one capable of killing him with the flick of her hand.

  There was no doubt he was tempted. He could live forever young in this land, one of the Fae. He may watch Orlagh grow into an old woman from here, perhaps even helping her along the way. To have a lover like Flidaisínn…

  He gazed into the Fae girl’s lovely all-black eyes. He blinked several times, but Orlagh’s eyes stared back. Liadan’s eyes. Su
ddenly, his desire turned to rage and despondence. He yanked his hands back. “No! Do not seek to deceive me with your glamour. I cannot remain here with you, as lovely as you are, Flidaisínn. I am of the human world, and there I must remain.”

  She closed her eyes and remained silent for several long minutes before she opened them once again. Her color faded, looking almost ashen. Once again, she took both his hands. “Then I have a final option for you. If you cannot stay with me, lie with me. I would have a piece of your love, at least for one night.”

  A single tear, bright as the moon, trickled down her cheek.

  “I… I am honored by your desire and offer, fair lady. I must consider my path.”

  Her hands were suddenly delicate and ethereal in his own. Around them were vaguely familiar trees. Were they close to where he first entered this realm?

  “Yes, this is near the doorway we used before. Will you take my bargain, Maelan? Will you give me a night of love for your news?”

  It had been so many, many winters since he’d lain with a woman. This Fae woman, she was kind, sweet, and beautiful. He would enjoy his night greatly. Still, memories of Liadan, his lovely Liadan, flicked through his mind with painful sweetness. If he took Flidaisínn’s bargain, he would break her trust in him.

  She set her lips in a determined line. “You still cannot decide. Then I will add one more piece to the bargaining table, Maelan. If you wish, I will remove the bard for you.”

  The anger returned, hot in his veins. He clenched his fists and his jaw. Any previous warmth he felt toward her evaporated into a cold anger. “No. You mistake my nature, my lady. You will not harm the bard. He is my good-son by law, no matter what he does, and I will not contract on his life.”

  She backed away from his fury, confusion evident on her face. “I had no intention to insult you, Maelan, truly! I thought this a perfect solution to your granddaughter’s quandary. Especially when…”

  “When…?”

  She shook her head. “I mustn’t say, as much as I wish to. Not without payment in kind.”

  “Very well. I cannot pay what you ask. You must keep your information, my lady. I must leave your realm. I trust you to abide by our terms. How do I return to the tomb?”

  Flidaisínn bowed her head. “I understand, Maelan. I shall return you to the hour you left, in sound mind and body. Simply lie in the grass here, and I shall transport you.”

  He got on the ground and waited for the flash of light. When it came, he blinked several times, the blackness of the tomb oppressive. He inched back out of the tiny space and breathed in blessed relief when he emerged. The rain fell heavily on his face, an unseasonal chill in the air. He bundled his cloak tight and headed north toward the camp.

  It was several sodden, miserable hours before he stumbled into the camp. Things had changed in the hour he’d been away. The tents seemed larger, somehow. The firepit was deeper, and there were more stones and benches around the pit. No one stirred in the camp. His companions had been busy.

  He shivered. The temperature was truly dropping. This was not typical late spring weather, even for Hibernia. “Halloo! Anyone here?”

  Utromma’s head popped out of one tent, her mouth in an O of surprise. “Eógan! Eógan, he’s back!”

  She ducked back into the tent, but emerged shortly thereafter, with two fur cloaks. She swung one over her shoulders and handed Maelan the other. He gratefully took the cloak and secured it around his shoulders. Where had she gotten these? They weren’t carrying them earlier today.

  His friend emerged from the tent with a third fur cloak and a sour expression. “Where the bloody hell have you been, Maelan? Don’t ever go off like that again, without a word. We were worried sick, despite your messenger.”

  “Messenger? What messenger? And I was barely gone an hour. What’s going on?”

  Utromma stared at him. She peered into his eyes for a few moments before saying, “An hour. Maelan, you’ve been gone eight moons.”

  “That’s impossible! She said she’d return me to the very hour of my departure. She promised.”

  Eógan narrowed his eyes as stirred up the coals. The rain had already plastered his hair to his head, so he shook like a wet dog. “She? Maelan, explain yourself.”

  He sighed, sitting on one of the benches. “I was taken to Faerie. The Fae woman promised she’d return me the same hour I departed.”

  Eógan giggled, visibly tried to control it, and failed. He laughed loud and long, holding his side. Utromma and Maelan exchanged glances. Utromma shrugged at the antics of her lover.

  Frustrated, Maelan grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him until his laugh died. “What is it, man? What is so hilarious about being taken to Faerie?”

  He shook his head, still chuckling. “You are a fool, Maelan. You set the terms, but the wording was too precise. The same hour, aye, but not the same day. Not even the same moon. You disappeared at noon, and thus you were returned at noon… eight moons later.”

  Part III

  Chapter 11

  Orlagh wished she had as much determination now as she had the night she’d faced down her grandfather. That had been almost eight moons before. Rather than feeling strong and sure of her own independence, she was sodden, tired, and weak in her need for creature comforts, the luxury of dry clothing, a warm bed, plenty of food—all of the things she’d taken for granted in Ceann-Coradh. Growing awkward and fat didn’t improve matters. She rubbed her swollen belly, a weak smile on her face.

  They’d spent most of the summer in the north in Dún na nGall. They’d traipsed across the country playing in ringforts and fishing villages. Winter set in, as they headed south again, to the relatively warmer climes. Unfortunately, warmer didn’t mean drier.

  They’d passed through a village at the mouth of the Gaillimh River the night before. Orlagh had been quite nervous about performing for the Ui Conchobair chief, but he turned out to be pleasant and welcoming. She didn’t mention her own relation to the Ui Briain clan, of course. She had better sense than to stir up trouble.

  They only performed at Gaillimh a few nights before moving out into the beautiful countryside of Conamara. Now all the conveniences of ready food and warm blankets seemed but a distant memory. Winter had arrived with a vengeance, and she wished for the warmer days to return.

  Rain had pelted them at least nine of the last ten days. Orlagh had lived in Hibernia all her life and was thus well used to the damp, but rainfall usually fell softly, in a light mist. Heavy deluges were less common, except for these last nine days.

  Tonight they planned to perform for a small community called Uachtar Ard, on the shores of Lough Coirib. A decent-sized village, Uachtar Ard had a few gathering places and several prosperous farms in the surrounding area. A large dock reached into the water, with low buildings for processing fish.

  Orlagh had been practicing a new song, one about a soldier in the woods, and she was eager to sing tonight. This would be her first solo, no accompaniment from any of the other singers. Finnegan would be playing his pipe, and she trusted in his ability to keep her in time and key with his melody.

  Temuirr returned from an errand in the village. He put a hand on her shoulder as they sat around the firepit, making last-minute preparations. “Nervous, mo chuisle?”

  She nodded, smiling. “This is the first time I’ll be singing alone for strangers. I’m terrified I’ll forget the first words!”

  He knelt next to her and massaged her feet. She moaned with pleasure. His touch was firm yet gentle. “You’ll be grand. If you appear stuck, I’ll mouth the words to you, aye?”

  “Mmm. Don’t stop, that feels wonderful.”

  He chuckled. “If I don’t stop soon, my hands will fall off, and who will pleasure you later?”

  Her cheeks grew warm from both pleasure and embarrassment. His hands were indeed wondrous in how they touched her. He caressed her neck as it turned red and he laughed more loudly. “Not to worry, mo chuisle. They’re in no danger yet. Now
, shall we work on warming your voice?”

  Orlagh hummed and then sang the exercises Yana had taught her. She still felt silly singing the nonsense words, her voice rising with each note and then falling, but they did seem to help her throat from turning sore after several hours of performing.

  Temuirr patted her several times on the belly and kissed it before he entered their tent. He emerged several minutes later, decked out in bright clothing, all blues and greens. Temuirr had his multi-colored, gold fringed brat in his hand and flipped the small cloak over his shoulders to attach it at the neck. He used a beautiful brass brooch with silver etched designs.

  She’d examined the jewelry before. He said the brooch had been a gift from his own grandfather, fashioned on some other piece glimpsed a lifetime ago.

  “A poor copy, he said. The original had been gold and silver, with true gems within the etching. He said the gems glowed in the darkness, though I’m certain that was a poetic embellishment. Alas, the lovely thing belonged to another, and my grandfather had this one commissioned from the memory.”

  Orlagh was drawn to the piece, but daren’t ask to wear it. In fact, she’d rather not, because then she couldn’t see it. For some strange reason, the design seemed familiar. She loved looking at the curves, adorning the brat of her love, balancing the gold fringe. The brooch lent him a regal look which made her proud.

  She realized how little time she had. She abandoned her singing practice and waddled into the tent to change her own outfit. She pulled out the léine Eolande had made for her, a paler version of Temuirr’s vibrant colors.The garment looked like a tent over her bulk.

  Thus adorned, she exited with a flourish. At least, she attempted a flourish. Whipping aside the tent flap only resulted in the leather slapping her in the face and she sputtered. A muffled chuckle from without assured her Temuirr had not missed her botched performance.

  Grumbling, she untangled herself from the tent flap and stomped out, only to be swept up in her husband’s arms. “Ah, my sweet young bride. Such grace you demonstrate! Such elegance!”