Age of Druids: Druid's Brooch Series: #9

by Christy Nicholas

  “I’m afraid there is little we can do about his power, at this point. Perhaps when he’d first arrived, we could have leveraged some of the other villagers… but it’s too late now.”

  “But I’ve tried talking to others! The few who aren’t enthralled by him remain reluctant to say anything against him.”

  “Just so. He’s got hold of the community, and he’ll not let go of that power. This means we must work within his rules.”

  Clíodhna’s blood grew chilled. This might get messy.

  They worked out the details of a plan to approach each villager, starting with those who still maintained a close relationship with the magic of the land. Without aggressive tactics, they’d emphasize the benefits of keeping the Fae happy as integral to the health of the land, the kine, and their children.

  Clíodhna pursed her lips. “But what about the Christian ideas that the Fae are something from their devil?”

  “We’ll just have to convince them the Christians are mistaken.”

  “The monks have drawn pictures, though! Little Fae creatures stabbing people and stealing their souls, all with a laughing horned creature looking on.”

  He chuckled. “They can draw all the pictures they want. The truth must win out.”

  A voice came from behind. “Indeed, it must.”

  They both whirled to see Pátraic had returned, this time with even more monks. Clíodhna counted ten, including several she recognized, like Brothers Fachtna and Cronan. She scowled in the latter’s direction, and he gave the briefest of shrugs with his lips pressed together in grim apology. Fachtna grinned in horrific delight.

  Clíodhna stood and stepped in front of the roundhouse door. Was Etromma still inside? Donn had been with the cows earlier, but she seemed to remember him returning. Aileran slept in his bed after Clíodhna fed him. With a glance to Adhna, she braced herself on the doorframe.

  Adhna spoke to her under his breath. “Get the children.” Then he turned to the Abbot. “I understand you are a leader in this community. Pátraic, is it?”

  The Abbot waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I don’t know who you are, but you are not of this village, so I need not answer to you.”

  Clíodhna grabbed Aileran and several blankets. She shook Etromma from her nap. “Donn, gather those bags of food, the flint, the iron pot and tools. Etromma, grab the clothing and blanket bundles we made. We must leave, quietly. Now.”

  The children scrambled to their tasks as Adhna and Pátraic exchanged barbed words outside. She paid little attention to what they said, simply grateful they’d packed things in preparation of this possibility. The Abbot’s tone conveyed all she needed to know. He had come for her children, and she must not allow it.

  She emerged from the doorway with caution. Donn stood behind her, clutching a blanket wrapped around various household tools, a wheel of cheese, three loaves of bread, and some apples. Etromma had a cloth bundle over her shoulder.

  Pátraic tensed as she came out and snapped his fingers. His monks fanned out to block off her escape, almost surrounding the roundhouse.

  Adhna glanced at Clíodhna, and then at the sky. Clíodhna understood.

  The sky had been bright and clear, but now the dark clouds swirled overhead, turning into a whirlwind. The point of a miniature tornado touched the ground to the right, on the path leading away from the village. This same path led up to the hills, where the hidden stone circle stood.

  The monks in that spot scattered. Ominous clouds gathered and the boom of thunder echoed across the valley. She looked over her shoulder at her two eldest children. As one, they strode to the open space, straight to the retreating, twisting windstorm. It led the way up the path.

  Pátraic screamed to his monks. “Catch them!”

  Adhna took the rear position, his hands held high, as Clíodhna pulled her children down the path. A monk tried to grab at them but found himself unable to move until they passed. Another, mumbling a prayer under his breath, pushed through almost to the point of touching Clíodhna. She clung to Aileran, keeping the baby from the intruder and passed him.

  Brother Cronan stood next to the path, his shoulders relaxed. He gave them a tiny nod as they passed, his hands out in a half-hearted attempt to grab her arm. She flashed him a grateful smile for his obvious reluctance to capture them. Donn whispered thanks to the monk who had been his mentor for the last several moons.

  Pátraic rushed the small column of escapees and, his God’s name on his lips, he shoved his way through the stickiness of Adhna’s barrier. He laid his hands upon Etromma’s shoulders, but she spun and kicked him squarely between the legs. He collapsed with a cry of pain, and Clíodhna grinned, shouting, “Well done, daughter!”

  They wended their way up the sacred hill, past the guardian stones, and to the circle itself. Clíodhna hesitated. She didn’t want to bring her family to Faerie, but she must find a safe place. She turned to Adhna, a protest leaping to her lips.

  He stalled her words with a raised finger. “You needn’t enter the circle. There’s a large, dry cave that will suit. I will make a place for you. It might take a while, but I will do what I can.”

  * * *

  The violent thunderstorm raged outside. Clíodhna could no longer control its fury, but the storm served an excellent purpose even now. The pouring rain and gale made searching more difficult for the monks and obscured any record of Clíodhna’s passage through the forest. She smiled into the darkness.

  Adhna must have anticipated some of their need, as baskets of food and supplies lay hidden in the back of the cave. Several blankets, a bronze pot, wooden bowls, and utensils filled one basket. A second one held turnips, onions, garlic, and herbs. Dried fish, a bag of rowan berries, a jar of honey, and some dark oat flatbread filled a third. A small container, when opened, revealed a supply of precious salt.

  After unloading their own supplies, she surveyed the prospects of survival in this cave. A small stream flowed along one edge of the cavern, though it might dry up when the storm waned. Her children used the blankets to curl into an exhausted sleep.

  Using a bowl, she scooped some water into the provided bronze pot. She’d use that to store the water and her iron one to cook with.

  Aileran began to fuss, and she took some time to feed the child. At first, he didn’t want to suck, but after some coaxing, he took his fill. Her milk didn’t come as freely as it used to and might be drying up. She’d have to prepare something soft for the wee lad.

  What would become of her farm and livestock? Clíodhna shuddered to think what an angry mob might do to her home, her cows, pigs, and chickens. Anger flowed through her veins. Rage at the short-sighted bigotry of the Abbot warred with disgust at the easily led minds of men. Fury at the man’s sheer gall to steal her family made her blood boil. How dare he?

  Outside, thunder crashed at the entrance to their cave, making them all jump. Clíodhna did her best to damp her ire, lest those she loved suffered for her unbridled wrath.

  Several hours later, the storm petered out to a mere drizzle. Clíodhna dared to peer out of the cave entrance to assess the success of her hiding place. Mists still obscured the hilltop with velvet gray. Nothing moved but the droning drip of water on leaves. The earthy scent of rain on soil mingled with the musty odor of the cave.

  Etromma woke from her nap. In a sleepy voice, she asked, “Ma? Are we safe here? I’m hungry.”

  With a chuckle for her daughter’s priorities, Clíodhna handed her a bit of bread. “So far, yes. I believe Adhna’s magic obscures the path to this place. I hadn’t been able to find it on my own and I doubt the monks will have any better success.”

  Etromma’s eyes grew wide. “Can we leave? Or are we prisoners?”

  Clíodhna opened her mouth, but closed it again, realizing she wasn’t certain of either answer. Adhna had never been cruel or controlling. He’d been acting in his role as mentor, friend, and sometimes lover. Still, he remained Fae, and such folk were notoriously changeable. She swa
llowed and gazed into the mist. “That remains to be seen, my love.”

  Etromma nibbled on her bread in silence as the water dripped in a steady tattoo. Aileran shifted in Clíodhna’s arm, and she moved him to her other breast.

  Donn roused and, once awake, set to organizing the space. He created sleeping areas for each of them and, with Clíodhna’s direction, arranged the food supplies and cooking implements.

  He exclaimed with triumph when he found the flint at the bottom of his sack. Donn held it up with a smile, but his joy faded as he glanced outside at the sodden weather. “We won’t find any dry wood for a fire in this.”

  Clíodhna held up her hand. “No fire. Not until we know we’re safe from discovery here.”

  He furrowed his brow. “How will we know?”

  “When Adhna returns, he can tell us.”

  Etromma turned to her. “Who is he, Ma? We met him at Bealtaine, and I’ve seen him once or twice in the village. I know he cared for you, but after you recovered, he disappeared again.”

  Taking a deep breath to gather her thoughts, Clíodhna let it out before answering. “He’s been a friend and a teacher for a few moons, Etromma. I trust him. For the most part.”

  Her daughter raised her eyebrows at the last phrase.

  With a half-smile, Clíodhna answered the unspoken query. “He is Fae, and therefore not safe to trust completely. But he has protected us and taught me. I believe he has our survival and best interests at heart.”

  When she mentioned him being Fae, both children frowned, but said nothing. In the silence, a distant rumble of retreating thunder rolled across the hill, a gentle growl in the darkening mist.

  Aileran fussed, spilling milk down her breast. Clíodhna mopped it up and lifted him to her shoulder, patting his back with gentle thumps. He rewarded her with a deep burp and a dribble of spit.

  “Here, Ma. I can take the baby for a while. Go relax while Donn finishes finding places for everything.”

  With weary steps, Clíodhna trudged to one of the blanket piles. She curled inside one, the itchy wool scratching her skin. The still-steady beat of dripping water lulled her to sleep more quickly than she imagined and she descended into the darkness of sweet oblivion.

  It seemed but a moment until the clattering of hooves on stone woke her. However, by the gloom of night, at least half the day had passed. Dim shapes moved in the shadows, but the clip-clop rang clear, echoing through the cave.

  “Clíodhna? It’s me, Adhna. I’ve brought you a friend.”

  She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, trying to focus on the white mass moving toward her. “Adhna?”

  “She’s a bonny cow. She’ll give you milk for cheese every day. I tried to find a chicken, but the monks have your home well-guarded. I borrowed this young lass from an acquaintance of mine. She asks no payment for the loan, though a bit of cheese might not go amiss now and then.”

  Clíodhna’s throat clogged with dryness. A gift from someone who liked cheese. He could only mean another Fae. She disliked owing too many favors to the Fair Folk.

  The cow stepped into the beam of moonlight near the cave’s entrance. The white of her hide stood out, but her ears looked dark. Clíodhna stood, brushing off her léine, and patted the cow’s large head. The animal mooed, accepting the caress.

  “Thank you, Adhna. And also for the supplies you left here.”

  He blinked. “Supplies? I left no supplies.”

  She turned to glance at the contents of the baskets, now laid out in neat piles, thanks to Donn. “You didn’t? But…”

  The Fae chuckled. “Not I, but the nature spirits. Those you’ve been helping into safety, I would venture to guess. They must have known where I must bring you and expected your needs.”

  As if in answer, a tinkling laugh sounded from a dark corner of the cave. Clíodhna narrowed her eyes at the space. “Come out, if you please. I would like to thank you for the gifts.”

  Nothing stirred in the gloom.

  With slow movements, she bent to test the cow’s udder. The distended skin felt ready to milk, so she gestured to Donn to bring her a vessel. He grabbed the iron pot.

  Clíodhna rolled her eyes. “No, silly, never iron. Bring a bowl.”

  Chagrined, he did as she bid. She knelt to grasp a teat and squeezed out a small bit of raw milk. Still moving gently, she brought the bowl of milk to the shadowed corner. Placing it on the ground, she retreated from the offering.

  The laugh tinkled once more, and the bowl disappeared.

  Adhna cocked his head. “They have accepted your exchange, it seems.”

  Part II

  Chapter Five

  Over the course of the next few days, Clíodhna made cautious friends with the local Aos Sídhe. A very young nuckelavee named Ishc, who lived in the stream running through the cave, had supplied most of the utensils, she discovered. The creature hid in the shadows, but occasionally she caught a glimpse of a horse-like shape and a fish’s tail. His skin, though, looked raw, almost as if he only had muscles and bones. He’d likely stolen them from the villagers over many winters, plucked from riverside meals or perhaps traded from other Aos Sídhe. An old, grizzled mine Fae lived in the cave with them, but didn’t respond to gifts or words. They learned to leave him alone. A sweet sídhe lived in a copse of trees near the stone circle but seemed too shy to speak. Clíodhna accepted their gifts, despite her misgivings.

  After a half moon had passed, they grew used to their new lives. No monk approached them, nor any human. The ever-present mist clad the hilltop in chilly mystery and enveloped them in a blanket of safety.

  Both older children grew cranky and petty after a few days of inaction until Clíodhna sent them both out to hunt and fish each day. This gave them daily tasks to keep their minds and bodies occupied and gave Clíodhna some rest from their complaints.

  When the darkness fell, they would discuss plans for the future. If they would have to move to another village, what they would do if someone found them, and if they would go to Faerie if Adhna said they must. Etromma kept her bow to hand in case of any intrusion, while Donn practiced swinging the iron pot and chain so he grew proficient using it as a weapon. Clíodhna asked Etromma to show her the bow, but she didn’t have Etromma’s slender build, and her breasts kept getting in the way.

  Clíodhna became thankful for the wee nuckelavee, as he was the chatty sort and could tell outlandish tales. His skin glistened in the dim firelight, brown and green, mottled like a trout. At least he kept them entertained in the liminal hours of dusk. During the full day and deep night, he slumbered beneath in his watery home. He wasn’t as chatty or as playful as the dolphins of her youth, but she felt an odd nostalgia for him.

  Still, she felt like a caged bird, unable to spread her wings.

  On one such an evening, as the mist darkened into dim twilight, Ishc halted in the middle of his tale. His head popped up and his eyes grew wide, staring at the entrance. Alarmed, Clíodhna turned, clutching a sleeping Aileran to her chest.

  The cave mouth appeared empty against the mists swirling outside.

  Forcing her heart to stop pounding, she laid Aileran into his sleeping palette, picking up the stout wooden cudgel she’d found in the woods. She gestured for Donn to grab the heavy iron pot. He had shown surprising accuracy swinging it. Etromma picked up her bow and notched an arrow. They’d practiced this response several times, though this was the first time they’d needed to enact their precautions.

  No sound came through the mist. She glanced back at Ishc, but the nuckelavee had disappeared into his stream.

  Clíodhna’s skin turned clammy in the waiting darkness. Still nothing stirred, but she felt watched, like she had in the woods before. Someone, something, waited out there. She wished Adhna had returned. He came by every five or six days to bring news or supplies. She felt woefully vulnerable with her two half-grown children and a baby to protect.

  Her fingers hurt. She hefted her cudgel again, settling it into a more comfort
able grip.

  Outside, the wind rustled leaves. She strained her ears to hear footsteps, a snuffling animal, a bird wing’s flutter, anything to tell her what lurked near her cave.

  Something snapped outside. The noise made her grip her club harder, her nails biting into the rough bark.

  Clíodhna glanced at Etromma, stock still with her arrow aimed at the cave mouth. Donn waited on the other side of the mouth, the iron pot swaying on its chain.

  A brief, horrible image of Pátraic and his mob finding their cave and trapping them inside flooded through her mind. She tried to quell the panic by pulling on the earth’s magic, to calm her fear and erase her terror. While it didn’t completely work, she could breathe without gasping.

  A dark shape loomed in the mist, coming slowly closer to the cave.

  When it resolved into a man’s shape, relief flooded through her blood, thinking Adhna had returned. Yet she as he walked closer, she didn’t recognize the creature. His bark-like skin made him obviously Fae, but she hadn’t met this one before. Her hands ached but she kept a strong grasp of her weapon.

  “Who are you?”

  The creature halted his steady approach. “You ask me a question, human?”

  “I do. Who are you?”

  With a rough laugh, he threw his head back. “Do you not know me?”

  Clíodhna placed her hands on her hips. “If I did, I wouldn’t ask. Who are you?”

  “Three times you ask, and therefore, I must answer. I am called Bodach, and I have come to help you.”

  Clíodhna narrowed her eyes and noted that both her children remained in battle stance. “Help me with what?”

  He gave her a wide grin, the crackle of his skin echoing in the silence. “That is not hard to say. I’m here to help you to safety. Do you not realize men search for you below?”

  The panic returned, seizing her heart. She peered into the deepening gloom. “I hear nothing.”