Age of Saints: Druid's Brooch Series: #7

by Christy Nicholas

  “I’ve packed clothes and some food. Where’s Mother?” No further explanation seemed necessary. He knew what they must do, and trusted Lainn to be of a similar mind.

  She glanced at his pack and raised her eyebrows. “She decided to visit our aunt. As soon as she left…he…I should have waited for you! I wanted to hurry home, but I should have waited!”

  His sister dissolved from the strong, sweet, flighty girl he’d always known in his heart to a fragile, shaking creature full of pain and fear. Conall held her tight, reaching into his pack to draw her brat around her shoulders. When her shivering eased, he held her at arms-length and stared into her eyes. “D-d-did he…succeed?”

  She shook her head. “He would have. He would have, if you hadn’t come right then. How did you make him stop? I didn’t even see you hit him, you struck so fast.”

  “Later. We have to leave. He may wake up at any moment. Can you walk?”

  She took a deep breath and stared at the roundhouse. “I never want to see this place again in my entire life. This I swear.”

  A shimmer passed through the clearing, changing the monotonous grays and browns to an instant flash of intense color. As soon as the wave flashed, the light disappeared.

  He grasped her shoulder. “Adhna. We must get to Adhna’s first. He’ll give us food and get us on our way.”

  As the night gripped them in chilly arms, they trudged along the river path to the old man’s roundhouse, praying Sétna remained unconscious long enough for them to escape. Conall wished he could find their mother, but he didn’t know where their aunt lived now. She’d just moved to a new túath last month, and he didn’t even know the name of the place.

  Full darkness fell before they reached the bee glade. None buzzed in greeting. Lainn placed a hand on the hive, her eyes closed as if giving a blessing. “They know we’re here. They’ll help us.”

  “How can bees help us, Lainn? You’re making no sense.”

  He heard the sad smile in her voice. “Sense is over-rated.”

  The door to the roundhouse creaked open, and a dark shape stood in the doorway, silhouetted by sullen firelight. “You’ve come. I suspected it wouldn’t be long. Come in then, children. Come in from the cold.”

  The darkness of winter gave way to the cozy warmth of Adhna’s cottage. The peat fire glowed like a beacon of heat and comfort in the center of the roundhouse. While the older man’s home remained too small for multiple alcoves around the outside edge, it held a riot of objects which made Conall turn and twist his head in the low light, trying to see and identify every item, with little success.

  Carvings with writhing figures of birds, bees, and other creatures of the forest covered the house pole in the center of the roundhouse. They danced in the flickering light, almost as if their eyes moved to Conall as he found a seat on the floor. He’d expected icy ground, but Adhna had placed several thick wool carpets around the hearth.

  Lainn hugged the old man with fierce abandon before she settled to the ground, and Adhna searched her eyes for several moments. “You should have left ‘ere this, children. No matter, you’re here now. Let me get your supplies, and we’ll discuss your plans.”

  He walked to one curved wall where a series of stone shelves held wooden drawers and boxes. Each one he pulled, rifled through, and sometimes pulled out an object. These findings he placed in a pile, but the peat glowed too dim for Conall to make them out. His eyes drooped from panic and fatigue, but he must stay awake. If Sétna came to find them and got to Lainn again…

  He glanced at his sister, but she seemed engrossed in picking the fringe of her brat free of twigs and dried leaves from their flight through the woods. Adhna shoved one of his wooden drawers onto the shelf with force, which caused Lainn to jump. Her eyes darted around, looking like a frightened rabbit, wary of a cat.

  Conall’s anger bubbled up, and he wanted to hit something. Preferably his stepfather’s disgusting face, but without his ideal target, he’d take another option. Adhna had an exquisite chair carved from a living tree stump, rooted to the ground. On this chair lay several decorative cushions. Conall used one of these to vent his rage and frustration in silent violence.

  Adhna hummed to himself while he added to his odd pile. As he hummed, Lainn’s agitation eased. When she finally closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh, a raven’s caw sounded from the shadows. A mad flutter of wings revealed an enormous raven. This might be the same bird that had led him home earlier. The bird watched him and blinked three times before settling in Lainn’s lap. She cooed and petted him, which the avian seemed to enjoy. At the very least, the corvid calmed her. For this, Conall felt grateful, whether or not it was the same bird.

  Adhna returned with a large linen sack and stuffed the eclectic pile of objects in with no care for delicacy or order. “This should keep you for at least a week, barring disaster. Maybe even with disaster, depending on its form. Disaster sometimes swoops in unexpected. Well, often, to be fair. Still, it has much to do and might miss you completely.”

  Conall swallowed his fear, forcing himself to nod as if the man made any sense whatsoever. What had Lainn said? Sense is over-rated. Though perhaps a whimsical philosophy, its application to survival in the wilds of winter remained slight.

  “Now, children, I wish I could invite you to rest before your journey, but Sétna is awake and furious. He’s on his way, so I must get you gone.”

  Lainn’s eyes grew furtive again, and she dove under the small cot. Conall crawled low to speak to her face-to-face. Her dark eyes glittered with unborn tears in the blackness. “Lainn, come out! We have to go.”

  The raven cawed, and Lainn slowly crawled from her shelter. When she emerged, dust clung to her cheeks and hair. Conall wanted to wipe away dust, wiping away her wariness. She’d never had much fear in the world. He already missed the carefree sister of last year, skipping and running through the woods. This new sister broke his heart, and he didn’t know how to help the old one return.

  Conall hefted Adhna’s heavy linen sack over one shoulder. Things inside clanked and clicked, so he shifted it until it settled more comfortably. He took Lainn’s hand and squeezed hard. This earned him a sad, quick smile before she turned her solemn gaze to Adhna. The raven hopped to Adhna’s shoulder and cawed so loudly, it echoed through the cottage.

  As Adhna flung open the door, the blast of winter wind made Conall stagger back, off-balance by the linen sack. He gritted his teeth and pushed through the wind out into the ink-black night. Skeletal branches twisted in the gale, reaching for their clothes and hair.

  “Keep west until you find Loch Ainninn. Two hours west of the loch, Uisneach lies, a massive hill above the landscape. If you wish to apply to the druids there, they will shelter you.”

  Conall furrowed his brow and hugged Lainn in to himself, away from the biting wind. “Apply?”

  Adhna picked at his mustache and nodded. “There is no guarantee, even with my recommendation, that they’ll take you in, you understand. With Lainn having some schooling, it’s a high possibility, but they are a law unto themselves, and will take whom they want.”

  The prospect didn’t sound certain at all to Conall. He shivered and pulled his brat closer around his neck, hugging Lainn more tightly.

  Adhna whirled to the door and then back to them. “Quickly, now! He comes. Take Rawninn with you. He’ll show you the way if you go to the druids.”

  The enormous black bird cawed again and hopped onto Lainn’s shoulder. Her face brightened, and they dashed off in the icy darkness. Behind them, the small bee glade faded into the murky mystery of the night. Conall hoped Sétna wouldn’t be in such a rage that he hurt the old man. Still, he suspected anyone who threatened Adhna would get more than a sharp rap of his walking stick. Certainly, Conall would never dare cross him, Fae or not.

  Angry darts of sleet savaged his face. He pulled his brat over his sister’s head and then covered his lower face with the other part. Seeing their way had been difficult before.
Now it was nigh impossible. The slush underfoot grew more treacherous, and without the raven guiding them, they might have merrily walked into a raging river and never noticed.

  Each step became a trial of momentum and determination. Every muddy slip, slash of icy rain, every caw of the raven turned Conall’s journey into a tunnel of forward momentum. Lainn’s warm form next to him remained his only comfort, something to protect, something to keep him going on through the pain and fatigue.

  When she slipped, he pulled her up, and they moved forward together. Always together. He’d never leave her to be hurt again, he vowed. This whole situation was his own fault, his own failure to leave when Adhna first urged him to go. Why had I waited?

  A loud caw in his ear brought him back to reality, and he halted before he stepped into the icy pond before them. The path disappeared into the black water, glinting with ripples in the dim scattered moonlight.

  “Conall…”

  “It’s not big, Lainn. We’ll find a way around.”

  “Conall, I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry? For what?”

  She bowed her head. “I’m sorry we had to leave. This is all my fault.”

  “What? No!” He bent over so he might make out her eyes in the dark. “None of this is your fault, Lainn. I knew we must leave ages ago, but I put this off. If anything, this is my fault.”

  The raven cawed several times impatiently, and Conall glanced up. “He just told us to shut up, didn’t he?”

  With a sudden giggle, Lainn nodded. “That’s pretty much exactly what he said. Also, that there was a time and a place for regrets, and this was neither.”

  “All that in a few caws?”

  “Ravens get to the point more quickly than humans do.”

  He stared at the black water and examined the edges of the puddle. Thorny bracken lined the left side of the barrier, but the right side remained clear. Squishy with rain-sodden moss, but at least spiny daggers wouldn’t rip them to shreds. Carefully, he led Lainn around the edge of the water.

  When they regained the path, he wiped the drops from his eyes. They only got wet again an instant later, but it made him feel slightly effective for trying. He stepped over another puddle, but the solid ground beyond it became a lie. This fake puddle sunk deep into the path, the water spilling over the tops of his boots. He cursed under his breath and shook his foot, trying to lessen the sopping mess, again to no avail.

  He slipped, falling hard into the mud. The hip bone on his left side found a sharp rock. “Blood and bones! That hurt!”

  With Lainn’s help, he got back to his feet, his entire side covered with mud. Even the torrential rain did little to wash it away. He took three steps and winced at the pain in his side.

  “Come on, Conall. Rawninn’s almost disappeared.”

  He pressed his hand into his hip, trying to alleviate the ache. “That bird needs to remember humans must walk. Flying is all well and good, but the terrain has challenges in this weather.”

  She crossed her arms and glared at him through the rain. “That bird hates flying in this, too. Most birds do. He’s helping us, Conall. We should be kinder.”

  “We’re far enough away for tonight, Lainn. I have to stop. We’ll hurt ourselves if we go further. Let’s find a place off the path to rest.”

  She pursed her lips but didn’t gainsay him. A glance down the path where the raven had gone was her only reply.

  He hunted for a few minutes and found a dry spot under a rocky overhang. He shoved out most of the wet, dead leaves and they huddled beneath, hugging each other for warmth. Conall hoped Rawninn would find them again. He couldn’t go on any longer tonight. His side ached horribly, a sharp pain twisting through his hip every time he moved even a little bit.

  Hours of freezing, dripping misery passed and Conall couldn’t sleep. Lainn snored in his arms, snuggled up against his side. He didn’t dare move lest he disturbed her. At least one of them got to rest. He listened to the booming thunder move farther away as his breath froze into misty crystals on his chin. Several times he wiped it away, yet it always reformed.

  Once he thought he heard the familiar caw of the raven, but no black bird intruded on their hidden shelter. The one thought which kept him from complete despair was that Sétna would never come looking for them in this weather. They were safe from him. For now.

  * * *

  Birds shouldn’t sing so loudly on a freezing winter morning.

  This thought rolled around in Conall’s mind, shoving away the haze of sleep and dreams. The sweet call of a lone songbird pierced his brain and forced him out of his languor. The white-fleece dreams of dying a peaceful death beneath an icy lake shattered into shards of glass, glittering in the winter sunlight. He tried to fall back into the blessed comfort of sleep, but a bee buzzed in his ear. It flew off when he tried to smack it.

  Lainn remained in his arms, a warm lump of sighing slumber. Her breath kept his shoulder warm, but the rest of his body had gone numb. He didn’t feel his feet, his hands, not even his buttocks. His hip, however, ached in full force and reminded him pointedly of his fall the night before. In fact, if he didn’t stand now and shake off the pain, he might just scream.

  Gently, he extracted himself from his sister’s somnolent embrace and stretched his long, lanky body until the muscles in his arms and legs popped. He cried out in pain and pleasure at this unkinking of his limbs.

  Lainn sat up, rubbing her eyes and brushing ice from her clothing. “What? Conall? Are you hurt?”

  “No.” He rubbed his hip and winced. He pulled up his Maelblatha to examine the spot and saw a deep, purple bruise. “Well, maybe a little bit.”

  She chewed her lower lip. “Gemmán would have helped with that. Maybe we should head back to the grove.”

  He shook his head. “That would be the second place Sétna checked, after Adhna’s c-c-cottage. The druids would have to give you up, since you’re still Sétna’s ward. Me, they’d have no call to hold anyhow, even if they deigned to shelter me to begin with. In fact, I doubt the druids Adhna wants us to find will be any different.”

  The enormity of their situation crept into Conall’s mind. They had food for a week, maybe. They had two sets of clothes and their brats. His feet were soaked to the bone despite his boots, and Lainn’s wouldn’t be in any better shape. They had no shelter from the harsh winter. They had no tools or weapons to hunt food, even if the forest yielded any game. The raven had likely abandoned them.

  He sat back down into the muddy pile of freezing dead leaves, drew up his knees, and cradled his chin on his crossed arms.

  Lainn paused in shaking the leaves from her cloak. “Conall?”

  “What are we even thinking of, Lainn? We’ll never survive out here on our own. In summer, maybe we’d have a chance, but solstice is but a fortnight away. We don’t have a prayer.”

  She set her lips into a thin line. “I hope you aren’t suggesting we go back home?”

  He shook his head. “No, I’ll never ask that of you, Lainn. You vowed never to go back, and I mean to honor that vow. I don’t know where to go from here.”

  She sat next to him and put her arm around his shoulder. “We’ll figure something out. We’re both smart, resourceful, and talented.” She glanced around as something moved in the brush, but a small mouse skittered across the clearing, and she let out her held breath. “We know what we can’t do. We can’t go back home, and we can’t go to the oak grove. We can’t go to Adhna’s cottage, and we can’t find our mother at her sister’s house. These are all places Sétna would know and bring us back home from.”

  “He’ll put out a call for us. People may see us.”

  She shrugged. “Then it’s a good thing you’ve brought clothes for yourself. I’ll wear yours, and we’ll be two boys, rather than a boy and a girl. I’m more comfortable in your clothes, anyhow. The shorter Maelblatha is more practical for every day work.”

  He frowned. A change of clothes wouldn’t make Lainn into a boy. Her for
m remained slender, but some curves showed. “I might plait your hair into warrior’s braids, I suppose. I have beads to attach. You can’t grow a beard, but you’re obviously young.”

  “My brat should hide any other clues. Now watch me and see if I walk right.” She strutted around in a circle, her gait shifting to a stronger, wider stride.

  If he blurred his eyes, he just might imagine her to be a boy rather than his own beloved sister. “Well enough. When did you learn that?”

  In a comically low voice, she said, “I’ve been watching you and Tomas. He walks with more swagger. Easier to copy.”

  He chuckled, despite the despair of their situation. “You aren’t actually going to talk like that, right? You sound horrific.”

  With a scowl, she batted at him, her voice still low but closer to normal. “Always the critic. Is that better?”

  He grinned and nodded. “Right. Let’s work on your hair. Then we should g-g-get going. Rain might return, and once the sun comes up, the slush will be everywhere.”

  The act of brushing out her hair, braiding strands into twenty long, thin plaits, and tying them off with bits of twine, became oddly comforting to Conall. The rhythm of the braid, the silky smoothness of her hair, and the low tune she hummed as he worked, transported him to another time, another place. When he finished, that part of him which wandered snapped back into his soul as if resentful of the return.

  Chapter 5

  After an endless day of rough travel, Conall eyed the far side of the river, focusing on the dark mouth of a cave. While it looked difficult to approach, he spied several places along the riverbank that he might fashion into steps. He nudged Lainn and pointed to the spot. She made her own assessment and nodded.

  While the winter waters flowed low, the river grew wide at this point. Further upstream might offer a better spot to ford, so they hiked along the bank. With careful steps, they spanned a fallen tree most of the way across the water. Still, walking through the remainder of the river became unavoidable, but the prospect of starting a fire to dry their freezing, water-logged clothing and boots worked as motivation.