Age of Druids

by India Drummond

  “I suppose where is the wrong term. I should say when.” Ewain sighed. “Without the Cup, I…” He waved as though sweeping the rest of the thought away. “It’s truly destroyed?”

  “Yes,” Munro said. He wasn’t entirely certain the deed had been carried out already, but he didn’t want Ewain cooking up some other scheme to get hold of it. Best if he believed it was a lost cause.

  Suddenly Ewain looked older, defeated. “I hate this new Otherworld,” he muttered. “When I was in the shadow realm so long, touching the flows, of course, was something I’d missed more than breathing. But all the people who mattered are gone and mostly forgotten. This new world,” he said, indicating the palace walls, “is a crumbling ruin.”

  “I’ve told you before you don’t have to live here alone. Come to the Druid Hall.”

  “This whole world is a crumbling ruin. Power is a tenth what it once was. The glorious days of innovation and creation are past. You are nothing but children, grappling in the dark. Maybe someday, you will recover a fraction of what we once had, but it will never be more than a shadow. The Otherworld is dying. A father should never live long enough to watch his children die. It’s time for me to leave this place.”

  Munro hesitated, uncertain if Ewain was talking about suicide or if he still had some plan to what, time travel? The concept boggled his mind. Tràth had never managed to go back in time more than an hour. Surely Flùranach wasn’t that much stronger than him. Still, with Ewain guiding her evolution, who knew what she might be capable of? Munro feared they might someday regret bringing her here.

  “Did you ever think The Way had anything to do with my friends’ disappearance, or was that part of your manipulation?”

  If Ewain detected an insult in the question, he didn’t show it. “If they disappeared in The Bleak within a hundred miles of The Way, then they are dead…or worse. Forget about them. Grieve for their loss, then move on.” He met Munro’s gaze. “If you never believed a word I said, believe this.”

  A chill crept over Munro’s skin. “If there’s a chance they’re alive, I have to keep searching.” He hesitated, loath to ask Ewain for advice, but certain he was the only one who could help him. “My daughter, an astral lethfae, has bonded with another boy, who is blood lethfae. The children claim they can track his mother through his blood. Do you know if that’s possible?”

  “Of course it is,” he said. “I’ve told you before your children understand more about their power than the rest of you put together. You brains have been hardened by modern times.”

  With a sigh, Munro nodded. He hated to admit the truth, but Maiya and Jago might be their only hope for finding Huck and Demi alive. No matter what Ewain said, Munro wasn’t prepared to give up, not while there was any hope. “I don’t doubt you’re right,” he said. Turning to the door, he raised his voice. “Gitan,” he called.

  The Mistwatcher entered the room as though she’d been waiting just outside the entire time. He might have thought she had, but she had a strange look on her face, as though something disturbed her greatly. “Give my regards to Flùranach,” Munro said. “I’ll be going now.”

  Ewain nodded. “Munro, when you brought me here from the shadow realm, I promised I would never do harm to a member of the Druid Hall. I owe you no more. But because you saved my life, I will offer this as well: do not return to The Way, and whatever you do, do not take your daughter near it. My brethren destroyed it for good reason.”

  “Were you that reason?” Munro asked.

  “There are worse things than me,” Ewain said with a smile that wasn’t entirely pleasant. “Those things live in The Way. Without the Cup of Cultus, even I won’t venture there.”

  ∞

  Flùranach waited in the shadows away from the Mistgate. She inverted her power as Ewain had recently taught her, which should make her even more invisible than if she merely used a visual illusion. However, when Munro and his Mistwatcher walked by as they departed Danastai, for an instant, he’d looked directly at her. She shivered but didn’t move, hoping that he had no clue that she’d passed through his Mistgate while he was with Ewain. The Mistwatcher had tried to follow her, but she was easier to fool. Flùranach led the soldier on a bit of a chase, but stopped in time to slip through the gate. Nobody could see through that.

  Even invisible, she believed with certainty the second Mistwatcher, the one on duty at the Druid Hall, would have detected her presence had she not again used her temporal abilities. She breathed slowly for a moment to steady her nerves, then began the painful process of turning time backward.

  Stopping it for a brief instant wasn’t difficult, but she needed to fight against enormous pressure to go back all the way to the moment the queen of Meditar had come through with Rory. A twinge of regret bloomed in Flùranach’s chest when she saw him, but she pushed the shame aside.

  Once she found a moment when the courtyard was empty and the Mistgate pointed to Meditar, she walked through. She rushed, even though she knew, logically, she had all the time in the world. Using her astral abilities to stay invisible, she released the flows enough to let time move forward but not return her to the present. The effort pushed every ability she’d acquired through Ewain’s teachings, but she needed to retrieve that artefact, no matter the difficulty. The Father of the Sky wanted her to be his bond-mate, and she wasn’t about to risk being sent away in favour of someone whose bond wasn’t scarred beyond repair.

  A strong swimmer, she used her feet to propel herself from building to building fast enough so she could duck inside for a breath of air when necessary. The sea fae didn’t seem to have any indication she was there. Occasionally, someone would hear her and turn, but they never appeared alarmed. From what Munro said, all of them were blood fae. Their isolation from the other kingdoms likely meant they weren’t prepared to defend against illusion.

  In truth, finding the Cup wasn’t difficult. Once in the palace, she used her temporal abilities to freeze time and search. Munro had given enough clues that she knew the artefact was in the palace, and the sea fae, like most of their kind, didn’t bother with doors and locks…with one exception. Once she located the only protected chamber, she knew she’d found the right place. The locks were not difficult to bypass. Likely they were ornamental and intended more as a warning. The fae, as a rule, would never steal, so the locks acted as a polite signpost, saying “these objects are not yours to take.”

  Flùranach couldn’t read most of the intricate runework around the vault, but from what she gathered, they served to create a severe reaction in druids, both physical illness and aversion. She felt a mild distaste and realised she must possess a few drops of druid blood, as Ewain had claimed. The news that she bore some human blood had come as a not-entirely pleasant surprise. Only by using her astral illusions to give herself confidence was she able to push past the sensations. Juno, she supposed, had never expected a faerie to seek the Cup. Perhaps in her time, the fae were too afraid of Ewain and none of the fae race would dare aid him.

  Flùranach didn’t fear him though. His power was a thing of beauty, and his soul was not destructive. He thirsted for power, but so did she. That desire had brought them together.

  Once inside the vault, she hesitated. A tiny cup rested on an intricately carved marble stand, and she became entranced. Approaching through the pressure of stopped time, she grasped the artefact. Power screamed in her ear and time rushed forward. Not until she managed to hide the Cup in her coat could she regain enough control over her flows to make herself invisible again and stop time.

  She stood, panting in the vault, trying to collect herself. Foolishly, she’d triggered some unseen alarm. Juno wasn’t perhaps as careless as Flùranach had believed. Still, Flùranach had every confidence in her success. The fact that Juno had known Ewain would try to acquire the Cup in the far future told Flùranach he would succeed and they would return to the past together. Otherwise, how could Juno have known to try to prevent it? Flùranach’s success was predet
ermined by fate.

  Anticipation propelled her forward. Finally, she would be whole. She would have everything she deserved. She could barely contain her excitement as she retraced her steps through stopped time. She didn’t dare release her temporal flows, which meant she had to fight both the resistance of time as well as water when she returned through the sea. Instead of attempting to hold her breath for an impossible amount of time, she took out the Cup again.

  The artefact fought with her, and fear trickled down her neck. This piece was like nothing she’d ever handled and was clearly not meant for faerie hands. If not for those few drops of druid blood in her, she doubted she could have touched it at all without losing her mind. Handling the sacred object with care, she filled it with water from a fountain in the palace. With more than a little trepidation, she drank.

  In that moment, it was not fae power she acquired, but druid. The strange difference wrestled in the flows. Still, with a useful artefact, blood druids might heal and modify their bodies as the fae could. She just had to pray the Cup would aid her because illusion would not give her gills that worked. Only blood power would actually change a physical body.

  The druid power moved through her like a wriggling snake and she had to fight hard to maintain control. By the time she’d crafted semi-functioning gills, she was near collapsing with exhaustion. The work had been performed quickly and no doubt badly, but her success, she reminded herself, was assured.

  It felt as though hours passed as she swam back to the Mistgate. Nausea swept over her when she reached the small building, and she staggered as she choked, spitting up the water that prevented her from breathing normally. After an unspoken prayer, she was ready to take the final steps. Passing through the Mistgate, she nearly collided with Queen Grenna’s retinue as they returned to Meditar. Flùranach stepped through the gate at the last possible moment. Weary and nearly weeping with the pain of the strange blood power still coursing within, she stopped time the instant she arrived at the Druid Hall, desperate to get away from the Garden of Mists before Munro or Eilidh felt her presence.

  She allowed time to flow again once she’d hidden in the Druid Hall, waiting until Munro and the tall, ugly Mistwatcher Gitan travelled to Danastai. Once they had a few moments to get away from the Mistgate, Flùranach followed, concealing herself until they were out of sight. Only when she believed it was close to when she’d passed through the gate invisibly the first time did she completely release the flows of time.

  She took cover in the shadows and watched Gitan search for her for a few minutes. Finally, the Mistwatcher gave up and returned to the palace. Flùranach followed, slipping around the back and waiting for them to leave. When she heard the pair from the Druid Hall depart, she paused to give them time to return to their own lands.

  Dizzy and exhausted, she ran to Ewain. She stumbled towards him, trying hard not to collapse, her wet hair plastered around her face and smelling like sea water. Although she usually treated him with the utmost decorum, she couldn’t resist embracing him. Startled, he didn’t respond, but just gave her a moment to calm herself.

  “I’ve got the Cup!” She reached into the inner pocket of her cloak and pulled out the exquisite artefact. Her hands still shook with the foreign blood flows racing through her.

  “You went to Meditar?” Ewain said, his mouth curling into a smile. This had to be the happiest she’d ever seen him, and her heart soared that she was the cause.

  “Yes, my lord,” she said. “I used your temporal training and travelled through the Mistgate, moving back to a time when a portal was open to the sea kingdom.”

  He took the Cup and stared at it as though it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen. He whispered, “I will make you a queen.” He tore his attention away from the artefact and met Flùranach’s gaze. “An empress. You shall have anything you desire.”

  “I only wish to bond with you,” she said.

  “Come,” he told her. “We have preparations to make.”

  Chapter 19

  When Munro and Gitan arrived back at the Druid Hall, he spun to face her. “What happened while I was with Ewain?”

  “I’m not sure, my lord druid,” she said with a frown.

  “Tell me everything you saw.” He’d detected Flùranach hiding beneath an invisibility incantation at one point, watching them, but that’s all she’d been doing. Perhaps she had merely been annoyed at the way Ewain sent her away and was doing some spying.

  “That’s the problem. I didn’t see anything. I’m sure Flùranach was nearby and invisible, but all she did was approach the Mistgate.” She shrugged. “I can’t be certain of any more than that.”

  “Did she attempt to manipulate you?”

  “No, my lord druid, but something about her felt wrong. I don’t know how to explain further.”

  “She didn’t go through the gate?”

  “No, I was aware of her presence constantly. It did move oddly, almost as though she was jumping around.”

  He nodded, although he had grown uneasy. Flùr had been up to something, but if all she did was check out the Mistgate, he didn’t see the harm. But why would she? “Thank you for your help tonight,” he said.

  “Of course, my lord druid,” she said. “You may call on me anytime.”

  He said goodbye and dismissed her, knowing now he must face the music and tell Lisle about Alyssa’s death. When he walked toward the central courtyard of the Druid Hall, he heard Eilidh’s voice inside. She was arguing with someone, which was unlike her. Typically, Eilidh gave orders and people did what she said, even in the Druid Hall.

  By the time he reached the foyer, he understood why she’d had to argue. She was dealing with Jago, a most unreasonable child. A smile crept to Munro’s face, but it vanished when he realised what they were quarrelling about.

  “It’s time to find my mama,” he said.

  “Maiya is not going to the human realm. I will not permit her to leave the nursery,” Eilidh said, as stubborn and intractable as the boy. She stood beside Griogair, who nodded grimly to Munro.

  “Queen Eilidh is right,” Munro interjected as he approached. “Maiya is far too little, and the human realm too dangerous.”

  “I never saw anything bad there,” Jago said, crossing his arms and scowling at all three adults.

  The boy’s assertion wasn’t true. Jago had killed his own father when defending his mother from his abuses. Thank heaven he didn’t remember the incident. “That’s because your mama protected you from bad things, like we’re protecting Maiya.”

  “Now I have to protect my mama. She’s dying,” he pled.

  Eilidh and Munro exchanged worried glances. “Why do you say that?” Eilidh asked.

  “Maiya told me. She said my mama’s blood is getting weaker and she almost can’t feel it anymore. Please. We have to go now. I can find my mama. I swear.”

  Munro hesitated. He didn’t know what to believe. Should he trust Ewain’s warning? Could they do anything to protect the children against whatever had taken Demi? Or had the warning been a method to manipulate the druids of the Hall into staying out of his business? As far as Munro could tell, the elder druid didn’t often lie outright, but he wasn’t above twisting the truth when doing so suited him. “Jago, I want to talk to Eilidh for a minute. You go see your grandmother, and we’ll come find you when we’re finished.”

  “You’ll help me?” Jago said. “I’m scared to go to America alone.”

  Munro blinked. He hadn’t considered the boy might try, but if he believed his mother was dying, Munro wouldn’t put it past him. “We’ll talk about it,” he said. “Scoot. We’ll be up shortly.”

  Once the child had raced up the stairs and was out of earshot, Eilidh said, “Dear Mother of the Earth. You don’t think he’d attempt to take Maiya with him, do you?” She appeared on the verge of panic. “I need to arrange for more guards. I’ll move her to Canton Dreich.”

  “Until when? Until we’re sure Demi is dead?” Munro as
ked.

  Eilidh flinched. “You can’t believe I want that.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” He felt ashamed at having given voice to the impulsive accusation. He glanced at Griogair, who frowned, clearly disapproving of the comment. “There are things I need to tell you both,” Munro said. He explained about the Cup of Cultus. Eilidh had heard a little about the artefact when Grenna returned Rory to the Hall, but he hadn’t taken the time to explain everything before he took off for Danastai. He told them both how the druids had hoped to use the artefact to find Demi and Huck, but that Ewain had manipulated them because he planned to bond with Flùranach. As much as Munro didn’t want to, he also told Eilidh about the elder druid’s cryptic words concerning the dangers of The Bleak.

  “Even with these warnings, you want to take Maiya there,” Eilidh said. “I sense your determination through our bond. I understand your desire, even need, to help our friends, but would you honestly consider taking our daughter into a realm filled with demons to do it?”