Conall blinked, but he saw nothing but blackness. He groped around him, but his fingers found nothing solid. His ears only detected hollow sounds removed from reality.
A light flashed, so bright his eyes screamed in pain. He closed them and held his head in both hands, trying to ease the agony. Belatedly, he realized he’d let Lainn’s hand go, and he tried to find her with his hands. When he found her shoulder, he drew her in for a tight hug, refusing to let her go again.
“We’ve arrived, human children. Be not afraid. You are safe in my home.”
He cracked one eye open, just a sliver. The light still seemed much too bright to bear, but he allowed his vision to adjust. Soon he squinted and eventually, opened his eyes fully. The colors alone made him gape in wonder, for such vibrant colors he’d rarely seen. Only in the full bloom of spring had he noticed such vivid blues, oranges, and yellows, as assailed his senses.
At first glance, it seemed a simple place. A large round structure, albeit with impossibly delicate arches across the top, stood beside a sparkling pond. Flowers surrounded the pond with small insects that seemed like butterflies, but not like any butterflies Conall had ever seen. A menacing black shape darted down toward Conall’s face, and he flung his arms up in defense, only to hear Ammatán chuckle as the enormous raven alighted upon his shoulder. “Have no fear of Sawchaill. He likes bringing drama where none exists. To intrude upon an already dramatic moment was more than he could resist.”
The tender smile the Fae gave his raven eased Conall’s fear more than anything the Fae said. Such obvious affection for another creature gave Ammatán a more trustworthy visage than any words might have done.
“Now, we must settle you in your places and let you rest. It’s been many moons since you’ve rested fully. Sawchaill, do go and find our guests some food, will you? Nothing insectoid, understand. They need meat. Nothing human, mind you!” The Fae had to raise his voice as the raven flew away, intent upon his assigned mission.
The chill returned at the Fae’s last words. Did this creature actually want to care for them? Or did he fatten them up for his own feast?
Conall found it difficult to believe in such carefree hospitality of anyone, much less a Fae. Lainn remained curled up against his side, not fallen back into the madness which had gripped her before, but no longer as coherent as she’d been before their journey to Fae.
Ammatán held out his elegant hand to help them to their feet. Once again, Conall took a deep breath and allowed the assistance. The hand seemed cool and dry within his own—cooler than any human, yet solid and much stronger than he’d imagined. Together, they got Lainn to her feet, though she stumbled with half-opened eyes and mumbling complaints.
The Fae led both Conall and Lainn into the roundhouse, under a soaring stone arch which sparkled in the light. Conall searched for the sun, but the light seemed to come from all directions rather than a single source. This odd light held the warmth of a late spring day, full of buzzing insects, floral perfumes, and a pleasant breeze. As they entered the shade of the shelter, motes of magic danced in the beams of light criss-crossing the space, entrancing him.
He placed a hand on the arch, trying to determine the type of stone, but the surface seemed vibrant, not like stone at all. The substance felt warmer than stone, smoother, almost like the small bone flute Lainn played.
“The bones of ancient animals, captured from human history.”
Ammatán’s voice intruded upon his thoughts, but this time it didn’t seem jarring. Rather, the information made an odd sense. Conall nodded, saving that bit of knowledge in his growing list of oddities in the Faerie realm.
In the center of the room stood a delicate table, entwined with living vines rising from the floor and then again to the roof beams. Upon this table held massive bowls of fruit, bread, and, as Sawchaill winged in and dropped a mass upon one end, a chunk of salted bacon.
“There! Well, I suppose he might have chosen better, but at least it is meat. This is a type humans eat, correct? The flesh of swine?”
The savory odor of the food made Conall wipe away the thin drip of saliva from the corner of his mouth. He nodded, unwilling to speak. He saw Lainn’s eyes light up at the feast.
After handing each of them a sweet, yellow fruit, Ammatán warned them, “I think one each for now, then sleep. I understand it has been some time since you’ve eaten, yes? Humans cannot eat so much at once after deprivation.”
Conall nodded, biting into the fruit, unable to identify it. The sweet, tangy flesh stung his chapped lips, but he licked each drop anyhow, eager to capture every drop of the delicious juice. Next to him, Lainn did the same, licking each of her fingers and gnawing on the flesh of the fruit down to the core.
“Now, to sleep. While you slumber, I shall create the welcome feast.”
Conall wanted another piece of fruit so badly, he almost cried out in protest, but he understood the wisdom of waiting. His stomach rumbled in argument, and Lainn’s echoed his.
The Fae led them next to a small chamber with a fluffy pillow filled with feathers. “This is for sister Lainn. Does this not look luxurious, my child? Come, lay your head and curl in comfort. No human harm can find you here in my demesne.”
Lainn’s eyes glazed over at the warmth and solace of the small room. She let go of Conall’s hand and nestled into the huge pillow, asleep as soon as her head settled upon her folded hands, curled up like a babe in her mother’s arms.
Conall wiped a tear from his cheek, horrified lest the Fae witness his affection. “Come, Conall. I shall find an equally relaxing place for yourself.”
Once again, the Fae took his hand, drawing him into the next chamber. Despite his mind screaming to stay alert, to distrust, to run away with Lainn and the brooch, that voice faded into the somnolent ease of tender sincerity the Fae offered.
The next chamber looked much like Lainn’s. The feather bed looked enormous, large enough for three adults to sleep upon it in ease. When Conall sat upon the shifting mass, he decided he’d never touched anything so soft in his life.
“You’ll watch over Lainn while I sleep? You promise?”
Ammatán ran one pointed finger along Conall’s cheek, which sent shivers down the boy’s spine. “I promise, human child. Even if I had not previously vowed my service, I would do so for you.”
Conall wanted to protest he was no child, but he closed his eyes, despite his efforts to remain vigilant. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered once again how Lainn had known Ammatán’s name, and how he knew theirs.
* * *
Something tickled his nose.
When he dragged his soul from a deeper sleep than he ever remembered, Conall rubbed his face. Crusty bits of sleep scratched his eyelids, and the faint touch of a fluttering cloud brushed his hand. He blinked several times, trying to shove through the haze of slumber.
The golden non-sunlight shone through tall, airy windows, not warm on his face, but not chilly either. After an eternity spent in winter, the lack of cold became a salve to his aching bones. His hip didn’t hurt for once since he’d fallen on it, and he took a long moment to savor that lack of pain.
A flicker of color caught his eye, and he steadied his gaze upon a fluttering insect with iridescent blue wings. The golden light shone upon the wings, making prismatic flashes of color across the walls, a dance of ethereal radiance to rival the dancing god-lights on winter evenings.
He’d only seen the god-lights a few times, in the middle of the night. The white glowing illumination had swept low on the northern horizon. His father told him the lights had been worshipped as a festival of the gods, where they celebrated their own power and life, just as humans did at the harvests and fire festivals.
What did this delicate creature have to celebrate? While living in this magical land seemed blessing enough. No cold, no wind, no night, no pain. What more would any being crave?
As Conall remembered the delicate touch of the Fae lord, his heart beat increased. His breath
caught, and he knew the answer to what he craved. Should this be how he reacted when Aoife touched him? Is this what other men experienced when they lay with their wives? The reaction frightened him. He knew men who lay with men and women who lay with women. Lainn’s own mentor, Gemmán, had mentioned his lover. But Christians disapproved of such a pairing, and often shunned or attacked those men or women. Here, in the middle of nowhere in the land of Faerie, perhaps they might be safe.
His bladder told him he’d been asleep far too long for mortal bodily functions. He threw off the feather-light blanket and searched for a night basket. He found none inside the soaring structure, but he saw Lainn still slept in her room. With a tender hand, he brushed her hair behind her ear, evoking a slow somnolent smile from her. He echoed her smile and went outside.
He didn’t see Ammatán in the immediate area, but he saw the raven. The bird cawed in greeting and Conall waved, not at all certain this would be a proper response. He found a bush with no thorns and sighed in relief.
When he finished, he surveyed the small, peaceful glade. Other than Ammatán’s home, everything appeared alive and thriving. Bushes with colorful flowers crowded around the structure, while a small grass-covered glade surrounded the still pond. Large water lilies and pads floated on the surface, and at least one fish poked his head up, sending lazy ripples to the edge.
A small path wound through the trees to one side, where it disappeared among the oddly-colored leaves. Silvery trunks sported blue, green, orange, and red leaves, though some of these shifted in color even as he watched. Not the slow shift of the autumn season, but a rainbow shimmer of change.
The sound of footsteps made him turn around to see Ammatán approach. He’d changed from the short, white Maelblatha he’d worn when he found them. Now he wore something more like a long robe, with yellow and red vertical stripes. The riot of color against his pale skin almost hurt. “My sleeping beauty has awoken. I regret I hadn’t been here immediately, but even Sawchaill couldn’t find me so rapidly. You must be hungry, Conall. I’ve set a meal for you both. Has Lainn arisen?”
He shook his head, unable to resist smiling at the Fae. “She’s still snoring away. Neither of us got good rest in recent months.”
He shivered. “Such a cruel place, your world. How do you stand the cold? I know it gets warmer, but I’ve not been willing to stay in such a place to find out how long it takes.”
“Several moons, at least. Half the seasons are cold, and half warm, though all have plenty of rain.”
With a half-smile, Ammatán placed a hand on Conall’s shoulder. “We have no rain or cold here in Faerie. There are storms, but only wind-storms, and often caused by one of us in a fit of anger.” His expression turned bleak, but his smile returned in a flash. “Not to worry about that. As long as you don’t insult the Queen, your weather should remain fair.”
Conall giggled, somewhat nervous. “I’ve no plans to insult anyone.” His stomach betrayed him with an audible rumble. “You mentioned food?”
The Fae laughed, a rippling tumble of water over a spring brook. “Perhaps you will help me prepare the food in a human manner?”
Together they set up a cooking fire, using a bronze pot to heat water. Conall showed Ammatán how to chop the vegetables and simmer them in the pot. Ammatán appeared fascinated with the process but made no move to help. “Such labors aren’t for the Fae. If we cannot do it by magic, we are, I’m afraid, much more likely to ask human help. This is why such things as milk, honey, and bread are so valuable. They require human labor to create.”
Remembering Adhna’s particular favorite, Conall asked, “Like cheese?”
Ammatán laughed again. “Precisely like cheese. While it’s not my favorite, I know some Fae who would move mountains to gain a steady supply of cheese.”
Conall grinned along with Ammatán, his laugh infectious. It seemed like so long since Conall had been so at ease, and yet he experienced a strange tension, a waiting as if something should happen. He wished he knew what.
Lainn roused after the stone next to the fire grew hot enough for Conall to fry bacon upon it. He remained convinced the smell of frying bacon would be enough to rouse the dead.
Her red hair stuck out at odd angles where it had escaped the days-old braids. She looked like a wilted dandelion, but at least she became awake and smiling. A glimmer of the old Lainn showed through the boy’s clothing and grim visage.
Without a word, she narrowed her eyes at both Ammatán and Conall, selected a fatty piece of bacon and scooped it up, transferring it from one hand to another as the sizzling meat burned her fingers. With delicate bites, she nibbled it like a squirrel, looking much more human when she’d finished.
Her eyes wide, she glanced around.
“Outside, as far as I can tell. Unless you have a night basket hidden somewhere, Ammatán?”
His brow furrowed. “I’m unfamiliar with the term.”
“A place to relieve herself. We keep a basket with sand in it, so we don’t have to go outside in the snow.”
The Fae’s eyes grew round, and he laughed. “Oh, I understand. Fae don’t require such things unless they live in your world for extended times. I’ve no special basket for it.”
With a desperate nod, Lainn ran out of the room into the bushes. A cloud of non-butterflies fluttered away, and Sawchaill cawed in response to the swarm.
Conall cocked his head to one side, studying the Fae as Ammatán watched Lainn leave. “Ammatán, why did you help us? Whose promise were you keeping?”
The Fae shook his head, his straight black hair falling over one eye. “That I cannot say. I have a géis upon the information, and betraying that trust would be dire.”
“Does it have to do with my father?”
Ammatán’s eyes flickered with anxiety, darting back and forth. “I truly can’t tell you, Conall.”
“Is that how you knew his name and ours?”
The Fae moved to within an inch of Conall’s face, and his eyes grew harder and darker than he’d yet seen. “I cannot answer your questions, human child. You will not ask them again.”
Conall’s heart skipped a beat at the danger and desire which flowed through his blood. This Fae had the strength to crush him, kill him with a touch, if angered. Yet when he stood so close, the Fae’s soft skin pulsed with anticipation. Conall raised his right hand and cupped Ammatán’s cheek.
The black eyes turned soft, and Ammatán’s fierce expression eased. He placed his hand over Conall’s and closed his eyes.
When Lainn entered the roundhouse, she giggled. “I tried to catch one of the insects, but they’re much too fast for me. They wouldn’t even let me sing them back.”
With guilty speed, Conall dropped his hand and stepped back from Ammatán. His breath shuddered, and he busied himself with slicing one of the odd yellow fruit. Lainn glanced between them with cautious eyes, grabbing another slice of bacon.
Ammatán took a slice of fruit and nibbled at it with dainty bites. Not one drop of juice dared to fall on his clothing. “The beings here are not the same as in your world, Lainn. They sing a different song. However, if you know the songs of their paler cousins, you might learn their own in time.”
This news made her eyes light with anticipation and glee. Conall handed her three slices of the fruit, which she shoved into her mouth, barely chewing the sweet flesh.
“If you teach her magic, can you teach me something as well? Or can we do anything to earn our keep?”
“Earn your keep? Please forgive me, Conall. I spend little time in your world, and you speak many phrases with which I’m unfamiliar. Your modern slang evolves too quickly for me.”
Lainn wiped her mouth and reached for another yellow fruit. “What are these called? And when did you last live in our world?”
“We call them Brid’s apples. She created them many generations ago, but they cannot be grown in the Outside.”
Conall bit into another piece, delighting in the tangy juices. “Brid?
Like in St. Brigit?”
Ammatán hissed and the air chilled. His eyes turned hard and dark, boring into Conall’s own like stakes. “Brid is no demi-god in the dead god’s pantheon, human child. She is a true goddess of the Tuatha Dé Danann, the people of Danú. She is to be honored and worshipped as is her due.”
The fruit caught in his throat as he tried to swallow. He coughed, and Lainn patted him on the back. When he’d recovered, Ammatán had backed down and returned to his pleasant host mask. Still, the dangerous Fae hovered beneath a shallow veneer. Conall must remember to choose his words carefully.
The Fae lord smiled at Conall, cheerful once again. “Now, young human man, what does the phrase 'earn your keep' mean? What are you keeping?”
“It means earning a living. Doing work in order to afford food, shelter, all the things a person needs to live their life.”
Ammatán furrowed his brow and blinked several times. He glanced at his roundhouse, then at Sawchaill. The raven cawed and fluttered his wings in a gesture so much like a shrug, both Lainn and Conall burst out laughing.
The Fae’s frowned deepened. “I don’t see the question as a jest. Am I missing something else, human?”
After wrestling his mirth into submission, Conall shook his head. “No, there’s no joke. Sawchaill just…well, he’s funny.”
Conall realized he hadn’t stuttered once since he’d entered the world of the Fae. He shivered. Did they dream? Maybe this whole adventure had been nothing but a fever dream. What if they’d been trapped in an eternal sleep, in the deadly winter on the hill of Uisneach? They’d never survive. In the spring, their frozen bodies would thaw from the melting ice.
Ammatán put a slender hand on his shoulder, his feather touch a tender caress. True affection and concern reflected in his black eyes. “Child? Is aught amiss? You’ve turned pale for your kind.”
He swallowed and shook his head. “I just realized I’d lost something I never thought I’d miss. It’s nothing that matters. Lainn, have you noticed?”
Age of Saints: Druid's Brooch Series: #7 Page 12
