Luck remained with them, and they found several young willow trees. He sawed one down with his belt knife, stripping the sapling thin and showing her how to set the knot. Then he let her loose to find the rabbit nest. With a few false starts, she found one. He showed her how to tie the trap to an overhanging branch, and moved several thorn bushes to each side of the path so the rabbit had to go through.
“Not a beautiful trap, but it should work well enough. Think you can do three more?”
She nodded, already stripping more of the willow switch. He watched her for a few more moments before he walked back to the roundhouses.
On the way back, Conall gathered several stout fallen branches, testing each one for dampness and sturdiness. Two he discarded as unsuitable, after one shattered in his hand and the other crawled with spiders. The latter he flung away as far as he could and brushed at his arms and hands, desperate to remove every crawling thing. He shuddered and continued walking, not daring to pick up any more branches.
The second roundhouse had three good, strong supports that might suit for repairs. It took a great deal of wrestling and grunting to remove them from their moors, but he extracted them. He dragged each to the smaller roundhouse and stacked them against the center pole. Then he found lighter branches to work as a framework for the thatch. The larger roundhouse had some salvageable items, but most had rotted away. He took a deep breath and headed back to the trees to find more. This time, he examined each prospect before picking it up in case more spiders swarmed.
Armed with seven good branches, he then concentrated on the thatch itself. Most of the larger roundhouse had decent thatch, but when he tried to remove the straw, it crumbled. Disgusted, he harvested some from the underside, where the weather had not yet taken its toll. He found some but would need to supplement the old with fresh straw.
No river ran nearby for sedge grasses, but he thought he glimpsed a pond in his wanderings. Perhaps he’d find water grass to harvest for thatch. In the meantime, he’d have to wrestle the beams into place before he could fix anything else.
He stood looking at his bounty, hands on his hips, as footsteps sounded behind him, crunching in the dry leaves. The cadence didn’t sound like his sister, so he pulled his belt knife out and turned to face the intruder.
The breath he’d been holding burst free. Lainn approached, with her boy’s swagger. He couldn’t even recognize his own sister’s step any longer. The world had tuned upside down.
As he put his knife away, she grinned. “I set three more traps. Are you ready for my help?”
“Do you want me to check them?”
She shook her head. “They aren’t elegant, but they should work. So, those beams go up there? In a wheel pattern from the center?”
He nodded. “Each one should rest on the center pole, and then on the outer wall. I think we should shore up the wattle on this part of the wall. Otherwise, the beam might be too much weight and pull it down. What do you think?”
“Agreed. I’ll fetch more flexible branches. The vertical poles seem sound enough. It needs more filling, right?”
“Good idea. I’ll see if I can find stones or a stump to stand on to lift the beams in the center.”
He’d just managed to roll a stone into place, with a little help from his magic, when he heard a rabbit squeak in alarm. He scanned the clearing, looking for Lainn. Her head popped up from some bushes to one side. “It worked already?”
“Sounds like it.” He grabbed his knife and strode to the gate. Lainn shuffled up behind him, her own knife ready.
He gestured for Lainn to lead the way. The first snare remained set, as did the second. The third, however, held a struggling young rabbit, still mottled brown and gray from his autumn coat. The rabbit squealed in panic when he saw Lainn. She lifted her knife and placed the blade against the rabbit’s neck, but hesitated. Her eyes grew wide, and she visibly swallowed. Her jaw twitched, and she moved the knife away from the struggling creature. She took a deep breath and tried again, but had to stop when a massive sob wracked her frame.
Tears fell down her cheeks. “I can’t do it, Conall. I can’t. Gemmán taught me to sing to the rabbit, not to kill it.”
“You need to, Lainn. If I can’t hunt, you have to learn. Try.”
She shook her head so vigorously, she almost fell over from her crouch. “I can’t! Don’t you understand? I can’t! Gemmán said a druid should always seek another path from violence.”
Conall nudged his sister aside and slit the rabbit’s throat himself, ending its pain and panic. He loosened the snare and reset the loop, carrying the corpse by the feet. He helped Lainn to her feet and led her back to the roundhouse.
“I’m sorry, Conall. I should have done it, but I couldn’t.”
He didn’t look up as he sliced the rabbit’s belly, preparing to skin the corpse. “We have to eat, Lainn. You know that. It’s a matter of survival.”
“I know. I know we have to eat. But I couldn’t kill!”
As much as he wanted to comfort her, he needed to skin the rabbit. He steeled himself from the urge to take her into his arms and tell her everything would be all right. What would happen if he got hurt? She’d have to hunt. If she didn’t kill, they’d die from starvation well before the winter faded. He couldn’t tell if he was more angry with her or with himself. Either way, he mustn’t let anger get hold of him. He concentrated on pulling the skin off each leg, then the back and the neck. He sliced the membranes, pulling it away from the muscle, nicking each tendon so the skin would slide off.
When he finished skinning the rabbit, he chopped up the carcass into four sections. He dumped more snow into the pot and set it into the embers, fetching more wood for the fire. He waited while the water boiled, still unwilling to glance at Lainn. She sobbed while sitting with her back against the roundhouse wall. Her cries were a gentle counterpoint to the crackling fire.
Chapter 9
Over a moon later, Conall regretted his actions that day. He wished he’d thought to dry some rabbit meat, rather than stew it all for that meal. They found no other rabbits, no other game, not even any late apples or nuts. They subsisted on a few foraged mushrooms and one lone fish he’d coaxed from the pond. His stomach grumbled constantly now, and he felt certain Lainn’s did as well. The pain almost made him double up and hold his stomach sometimes.
He might ask if she was hungry, but she wouldn’t answer. Her inability to kill the rabbit had been her last comprehensible words to him. Try as he might, Conall hadn’t coaxed his sister out of the madness into which she’d descended. He’d spoken to her, sang her stories, rocked her in his arms. Nothing he did helped. She remained a shell of her former, vivacious self.
He’d completed the repairs on the roof, though he’d drawn heavily upon his magic to lift the thatch and supports into place. Lainn would take what food he fed her, but she didn’t move from her huddled space along the edge of the roundhouse. She hummed to herself, ululating without the semblance of a tune. The sound made the hair on his arm stand up, as if someone breathed upon his neck. He wished a bee would answer her, but they slept in the dead of winter. Somewhere he swore he heard the echo of male laughter.
Unusually high levels of snow fell each day, trapping them in their place. While he had plenty of water, and some hazelnuts left, he didn’t know when he’d find more food. He doled those precious few nuts out one a day for each of them. Only three remained.
During the day, when light still filtered in through the cloudy skies, he kept his hands busy. He found flat reeds and wove mats for them to sleep on. Conall foraged wood and carved them into bowls, mugs, and utensils until his hands ached. He created mathematical diagrams and problems to solve, using the calculations Sétna had taught him as part of his masonry training. Still, he glanced at his sister singing tunelessly to the otherworld, and tears formed in his eyes. His heart ached with the need to help her, to heal her, to lead her back to humanity.
As he roasted the last three hazelnu
ts, then crushed them into a paste, he fed all three to Lainn. He fed her as he had when she’d been a babe, unable to hold her own spoon. A bit dribbled down her chin, and he caught it, making sure every bit made it into her mouth. Then he held the mug of water to her lips, making her drink.
She batted at him and whimpered in fear, but he persisted until she’d drunk at least half the mug. He relented when she knocked the mug from his hand and growled at him, retreating into a ball. The smell of her soiling her clothing reached him, and he grimaced. He’d have to change her Maelblatha again and wash the stains.
He almost wished Sétna would find them. At least then, Lainn might return to her human self. Had the Fae stolen her soul? As far as he knew, she’d touched no Faerie stones or taken a gift from them. She hadn’t spied them dancing in the moonlight or drunk of their nectar. She simply refused to kill a rabbit.
In the past weeks, he’d prayed for guidance. He had prayed both to the Christian God and the ancient gods, whoever might be listening. Now he phrased his appeal to all, any being that might help them.
With little hope for an answer, Conall knelt once again as the late afternoon light faded into wintry darkness. “Please, we need help. We need food, or a way to escape to someplace with people. A place that will shelter us from harm. My sister needs to find her soul again. If you can hear us, anyone, please help.”
A sudden freezing cold wind tickled the back of his neck. He shivered and drew his brat more closely around his shoulders. The fabric had worn thin. Maybe he could sew the rabbit fur along the neck edge.
A raucous caw made him jump back, his eyes wide in startled terror. An enormous raven watched him from an arm’s-length away. The bird hadn’t been there when he closed his eyes to pray. At first, Conall experienced a wave of relief that Adhna’s raven had found them, but then he realized this bird seemed far larger than Rawninn, its black-sheen feathers glinting in the fading light.
Crawling backward, away from the raven, Conall retreated to Lainn and hovered in front of her. If the raven meant harm, he’d protect her against all interference, be it natural or Fae.
“You called for help.”
Conall had been staring at the raven, so he realized the bird’s beak hadn’t moved. With growing fear, he searched the rest of the roundhouse and saw the man-shaped shadow near the doorway. The shadow moved subtly, but not as a human would move. His arms and legs moved with a liquid flow, more graceful than any dancer he’d ever seen.
The shadow let out a low, musical laugh and resolved into a human form, with skin white as summer clouds. His hair flowed into midnight-dark locks. Pointed teeth gleamed as he smiled. With languorous steps, he approached with his arms spread wide. “I am here to help you and your lovely little sister, Conall. Will you disdain my generous offer?”
Conall fumbled for his belt knife, but it remained out of his reach, next to the food shelves. He grabbed Lainn’s hand, though she moaned in response to his tight grip. She yanked on his hand, and he glanced back. Her eyes flew open, staring at the man before them.
Conall studied the stranger more closely, noting his too-white skin and his ink-black hair. The sharp teeth reminded him more of a feral cat than any human. The aromas of lilac and burnt bone tickled his nose.
“You shouldn’t be afraid, mortal child. Truly, I’m here to help. Have you never seen a member of the Fae court before?”
The creature’s smile chilled Conall to the bones.
“Now, Conall, I must ask you a question ‘ere I offer more than my simple help. Are you indeed the spawn of the human called Fíngin?”
Startled at his father’s name, Conall nodded before he could censure his response. Lainn had stopped whimpering and sat stock still behind him. Her hand had grown ice cold.
“Excellent, excellent. He gave you a trinket, I believe. A gift from his own mother, is that not true?”
Conall didn’t know if the brooch came from his grandmother. He now had a greater hold on his reactions and didn’t answer either way. He clenched his jaw and held himself still, despite his quaking bones.
“No matter. I can sense the magic within you. Now, please believe me when I vow, as a member of my Queen’s Court, that I have no interest in harming you. Rather, I’ve been sent to watch over you and to come when called. You have called for help, and therefore I must come to offer the same. With that in mind, will you accept my help?”
Conall found his voice. “Wh-wh-who sent you?”
The Fae’s smile deepened. “The only being who can command my actions is my own dear Queen, mortal child.”
Conall realized the stranger hadn’t quite answered his question. “Why would she send you to us?”
“That is not my tale to tell, youngling. Will you accept my help? I can bring you to warmth, safety, and sustenance, for however long you require such things.”
“However long? You mean until you kill us?”
The melodious laugh caressed Conall’s ears like a long-lost lover. “Such a fierce protector you are! No, I will not harm you, remember?”
With a glance back at his sister, still alert and unmoving, he asked, “Fae food? Or human food?”
The Fae’s laugh echoed against the walls, fondling Conall’s skin like the softest rabbit fur. He closed his eyes to enjoy the smooth caress. “Human food, of course. As I said, I have no wish to trap you into a contract or a promise. This is simply the repayment of a debt incurred.”
If the Fae’s presence could drag Lainn from her madness, he only had one choice.
With trembling legs, Conall stood, pulling his sister behind him. He grabbed his sack and Adhna’s and Lainn’s. He made certain his father’s brooch remained hidden within his own before he took his sister’s hand again and turned to the Fae.
“Very well. I accept your help.”
“You both must accept, child. My dear Lainn, do you accept my assistance?”
Conall held his breath, both eager to hear sensible words from his sister and dreading her answer. With silent urging, he begged her to deny the creature and remain sane.
Lainn’s eyes darted to Conall, and a spark of defiance flashed deep within her soul. She shut her eyes upon that flicker and turned to the Fae. “I accept your help, Ammatán.”
* * *
Before they left the chilly roundhouse, the Fae required them to leave anything iron.
As they rifled through their belongings, Conall whispered to Lainn. “How did you know his name? Have you met him before? He knew your name!”
She shook her head and said nothing, her motions abrupt and jerky as if someone moved her limbs for her.
Out of the corner of his eye, Conall observed the Fae. He stood still. Not even his chest moved with breathing, nor did the breeze flutter his hair. Perhaps he stood in a moment of frozen time. With furtive movements, Conall palmed the ancient bronze knife Adhna had gifted them. The Fae’s gaze burned into him, his gaze like a heavy load upon his shoulders. They removed their small pot, several utensils, and three nails from their packs before he would lead them away. As he dropped the last piece of iron from their belongings, he turned to face the creature.
“I need you to promise me two things before we go with you.”
Now the Fae moved, his delicate eyebrows raised in surprise. “You think to dictate terms, mortal?”
Conall nodded, trying to exude much more confidence than he possessed, an illusion which shattered as he spoke. “I d-d-do. You must promise to help heal my sister and to never allow harm to come to her.”
The creature narrowed his black eyes and considered Lainn. She had picked up her own sack, lighter by several iron items, and took Conall’s hand with a quick, fierce squeeze.
The Fae smiled, his lips curling away from his pointed teeth. “I do promise I will do what I can to help Lainn find and retain her senses. I also promise I shall not allow Lainn to come to harm if it's within my power. Further, I shall promise to show you how to return to your world, if you should wish to return.�
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While the promise didn’t quite address what Conall had asked for, he realized he would get no better promise. However, the bargain still hadn’t been sealed. “What will you ask in return for this promise?”
The Fae walked around Conall, one hand lingering on his shoulder, trailing down his arm, and then to Lainn’s shoulder in a similar caress until he stood where he started. “I ask nothing in return for this promise, human child.”
Conall glanced at Lainn, who shrugged. “I don’t understand. Fae always need something in return for their help.”
“I’ve already received my payment.”
The creature’s eyes turned blacker than the blackest night, and Conall felt himself fall into their endless depths for an eternal moment. He wrenched himself back into his body with tearing pain of will and grasped Lainn’s hand. Turning to her, he whispered, “Are you sure? Are you ready for this?”
She blinked as if waking from a long sleep. “I’m hungry, Conall. He’s here to help us.”
Hoping vehemently that her words weren’t the result of a fever dream, he turned to Ammatán. “We’re ready. What must we do?”
With an even deeper grin, the Fae held out his hand, elegantly long fingers curled in supplication. “Come away, O human child, to the waters and the wild.”
Despite his rising terror, Conall placed his own hand in the Fae’s, while holding fast to Lainn’s with his other. His hand felt cold and firm. He prayed he wasn’t making a horrible mistake with their lives and their souls.
Part II
Chapter 10
The darkness enveloped Conall, and he felt neither the Fae hand or his sister’s, though he still clasped hard upon the flesh he’d held. Stars twinkled past his eyes and into his mind as he flew through the dark void, spinning until he grew dizzy. With a suddenness that made him nauseous, the spinning halted, and he fell, landing on his knees. He tried to suppress a cry, but a whimper still escaped. Lainn cried out, and a wave of relief swept through him. He tightened his grip, finding her hand once again in place.
Age of Saints: Druid's Brooch Series: #7 Page 11
