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

by Christy Nicholas

  She stared at him, her eyes growing wide. She nodded once and took another bite of her Brid’s apple. The juice dripped down her arm, and she licked it before it reached her elbow.

  He shook his head to dispel the ideas tumbling together within. He’d never puzzle things out all at once. Taking another fruit himself, he turned back to the Fae. “Did you have any ideas what I might do here? Something to make myself useful. Your roundhouse doesn’t seem to need any repairs. Maybe other Fae houses need work? Or something to be built? You said Fae don’t like to do things that magic won’t create. Perhaps I might help in such a capacity? I can make cheese, milk, or bread. I love working best with stone, but will need new tools. I only had a few, and those mostly iron. We had to leave them behind.”

  Ammatán shivered and drew his hand back, his pale-white skin tinged green. “Iron. We can have no iron here. There are places which would welcome a mason’s artistry if you can do delicate work. However, we must find you some tools to work with. Will silver do? Or bronze?”

  Conall considered his options. “Bronze is too brittle for all but the softest of stones. I can use an abrasive to sand the stone down, but that takes a lot of effort and time. Antler or flint might work with some slate to chip off flakes, but fine control of carving will be impossible for the harder stone. To do the best work, the finest details, I would need the chisels and hammers made of iron Sétna used.”

  Ammatán jumped up, startling Lainn, Conall, and Sawchaill alike. “Aha! I know of just the thing. Wait here.” He dashed off into the roundhouse, leaving the children to their fruit. They hadn’t long to wait, as he returned with a small, black, oblong object in his hand, his face full of glee and anticipation. “Will this work? I can get more! We can shape it how you like.”

  Conall took the soot-colored item, which measured about as long as his arm. It flared at both ends like a bone, but the color looked as black as wood-gall ink. “What is it?”

  “Burnt bone. But Fae bone is harder than human bone. It should be stronger than your evil cold iron.”

  Conall dropped the bone to the dusty ground, and Lainn backed up several steps. “Fae bone? Did you…did you kill him? Who was he?”

  A flash of anger, followed by a moment of sheer pain, flickered across the Fae’s face. However, the impression disappeared in a moment as the Fae laughed, long and hard. The tinge of hysteria in the laugh made Conall nervous, and he glanced at Lainn. He detected no cruelty in the laugh, but Fae might mask such things more easily than humans. She still stared at the blackened bone, lying inert on the ground.

  “I did not kill him. Believe it or not, Fae die of natural causes or accident. We are not sentimental of our empty bodies as you humans are. Our spirit, as you call it, goes to Tír na nÓg regardless. Fae bones are quite useful, as are other parts of our flesh.”

  Still loath to touch the thing, Conall knelt to examine the bone. He gazed at it from several angles, picking it up by one end, gingerly turning it in his hand. He picked at the surface with his nails, tried to scratch it with a stone, and knocked it over his knee to break it. The piece remained intact.

  With a reluctant nod, he handed it to Ammatán. “If you can make me three sizes of chisel and a blunt hammer, I think I can use this, as long as the stone is relatively soft.” He held up his fingers about as wide as his thumb. “This is the middle chisel size. Half as small and twice as large should be the others. The other end of each chisel should be blunt and flat so I can strike it with the hammer. Like this.” He drew a picture in the dirt from several different angles.

  “We can craft that. Will you come with me to approve the details? I know several young Fae eager to work something new. Perhaps you can even teach them some of your stonemason skills.”

  Conall backed up, nervous. “I am no master. I’ve only begun learning myself last year! I can’t teach others!”

  The stricken look on Ammatán’s face, hurt and confused, made Conall sorry for his words, but he couldn’t retract them. Dead silence fell upon the glade until Sawchaill squawked and took flight, circling the clearing several times before flying away.

  “I’m…I’m sorry, Ammatán. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just that I am not good enough to teach someone else my trade, even if I had permission. I’m only a student.” Ammatán cast his gaze to the ground. He walked to the Fae and took his hands, cold as they were. “Will you forgive me?”

  Ammatán nodded and looked up. “I have difficulty judging human ages. How many of your seasons do you count?”

  “I’ve seen seventeen winters now.”

  “Is seventeen a short time?”

  “For a human, yes. I’m barely an adult. Our chief is Túathal mac Cormaic, and he has reigned ten winters so far. We often use the years of our chief’s reign to count the seasons, so I was born seven winters before his reign. I might live to be fifty winters, or seventy. I might die tomorrow. But I’ve probably stopped growing taller now.”

  Ammatán gave a half-smile and glanced at the top of Conall’s head. “You have a good height. You are even taller than I am, which is pleasing to me.”

  This pleased Conall as well. “How many seasons do you count?”

  “We do not count time in Faerie. The exercise is futile, as so many of us can manipulate the passage of seasons in the human world. Most of us can only go forward, as I can, but some can travel back, or stop time. Here we have no seasons, no drought, no famine. Our rulers do not die so easily as human rulers, so counting by the seasons of power does no good, either. If I used your world’s seasons…” Ammatán considered, his eyes shifting back and forth as if doing complex computations in his mind. “I first lived perhaps one hundred and fifty seasons ago. I am not certain, as many of us are not born and grow like humans. Some of us started as humans, but my parents were both Fae.”

  Ammatán had lived for one hundred and fifty years. Far longer than any human Conall had ever known, though perhaps Adhna had lived longer since he hadn’t been human. What wonders had Ammatán seen over the years? Perhaps he’d met Saint Patrick or the great chiefs of the past.

  Lainn’s thoughts must have run parallel to his own. “Will you tell us tales of your long life, Ammatán? I’d love to hear of the people you’ve met and the events you’ve witnessed.”

  The corner of his mouth curled into a half-smile as he turned his gaze upon her. “I can do as you ask.”

  Lainn clapped her hands together in child-like delight. Her action caused Sawchaill to fluff his wings in annoyance, and he cawed at her.

  “I can tell you a tale now if you crave one. Would you like to hear of the Faerie Court?”

  Lainn nodded with child-like vigor, which made Conall grin. When he turned that grin to Ammatán, the Fae flushed, his white skin shading into gray. He cleared his throat and sat cross-legged, gesturing for both humans to do the same. Sawchaill winged back to the glade and settled on Ammatán’s shoulder. When they’d settled into their circle, he cleared his throat again and spoke. “Many years ago, when I was but a youngling, I witnessed a great meeting of the Faerie Courts. Now, most of the time the courts jealously guard their territories. One Queen daren’t set foot in another’s land, and they respect their boundaries with extreme caution. A Faerie war is not to be taken lightly.

  “This meeting was of the southern Courts of Ériu. Representing the parts of Faerie attached to the human lands of an Mhumhain, an Chláir, and Tiobraid Árann, came the most royal Queens, Áine, Aoibheall, and Oonagh. Our own queen in an Mhí is Gréine de Leicne Bán, though rumors say she once lived further west and held Oonagh’s domain.

  “I, a minor courtier in a sea of Fae, awaited the Queens’ arrival.

  “Our Queen sat in serene patience upon her throne, placed in front of the royal palace to greet her guests, her Consort by her side. He had but recently been chosen, and stood uneasily upon his lesser throne. He’d been a courtier, Master of the Queen’s Hunt, before his elevation in status. Another Fae, Bodach, took his place as Hu
nt Master when he became Consort.

  “The first sound of hooves echoed across the golden plain before the palace. The entire host stood silently as a human grave, craning our necks high to catch the first glimpse of the visitors. When the first chariot crested the hill, a collective sigh swept across the courtiers, a sigh of wonder and awe.

  “Nine white horses drew the elaborate chariot, each perfectly matched in size and conformation. The Queen herself stood proudly in the front of the chariot, a handmaiden by her side.

  “As the second chariot came into sight, also drawn by nine white horses and containing a Queen and her handmaiden, our Queen frowned and glanced at her Consort.

  “The third chariot came into view, again with only a handmaiden to accompany the Queen. Queen Gréine flicked her hand at her Consort. Both Consort and his throne disappeared with a pop and the odor of oily smoke. I briefly wondered if she had destroyed him or merely banished him out of duty as a polite hostess. If her guests hadn’t brought their Consorts, she couldn’t have her own in attendance.

  “Each Queen’s chariot ground to a halt in front of Queen Gréine’s throne. Each Queen disembarked with grace and beauty. Each Queen flicked her hand, and the chariots vanished, without even a pop.

  “Queen Gréine stood and opened her arms to welcome her guests. ‘Be well come to my domain, sister Queens. Eat of my fruit and drink of my mead. Be merry and happy.’”

  Sawchaill squawked, and Ammatán glanced at the bird. “I’m getting to that! Have patience, my friend.”

  “Let me describe each of the Queens to you.

  “Áine came from the south, a land of rolling hills and lush forests. Her own curves were strong and lush as well. Her silver-white hair shone, twinkling with sparks of fire and starlight.

  “Aoibheall came from the west, a land which embraces the ocean. She stood thin and tall, willow and ash. Her hair shimmered like the sea on a stormy day, blues and greens shifting with the breeze.

  “Oonagh came from the mountains, her skin gray and black and pebbled like granite. She stood strong and stout, a massive woman of obvious physical power.

  “Our own Queen, of course, had evergreen hair and dusky red skin. She represents the heartbeat of the center of our island, both full of passion and life.

  “Together the four Queens stood. The tension grew like a physical pressure upon all in attendance, as each being waited for one of the Queens to break the silence.

  “Queen Áine broke out into a grin, holding her arms out to Queen Gréine. ‘Sister! It has been long since I’ve looked upon your fair face. Let us sup together in peace and love.’

  “Once the dam had broken, each Queen offered her greetings in kind. Soon, each Queen exchanged court gossip and giggled like girls. I didn’t know how we should react to such a strange sight. I glanced at the other courtiers, but they seemed as confused as well.

  “A few had crept away, unwilling to risk being witness to the Queen’s odd behavior. I didn’t consider such an action as wise, as she’d never dismissed us. To turn your back on a Queen invited dire punishment. To turn your back upon four? I daren’t contemplate such a course. And yet, it seemed we, the courtiers, had become unneeded and unwanted in this regal audience. I had almost taken a step backward myself when I halted, alerted by movement by the Queen.

  “A few moments had passed before our Queen spun in place, her eyes literally blazing with fury, and blasted each of those Fae who had dared to leave into piles of crumbling cinders. No warning, no mercy, simple instant destruction.

  “With no thought to the Fae lives she had destroyed, our Queen turned back to her chat with a pleasant laugh, an answer to Queen Áine’s last question, and a flip of her luxurious green hair. I gazed upon the blackened piles of ash with a rising dread within my heart, knowing I’d been moments away from making the same fatal decision.

  Conall shivered and grabbed Lainn’s hand. Her skin had turned icy as she gripped his own.

  “I needed no reminder since that day to fear my Queen’s wrath and imperious nature. She is not to be trifled with by even the most privileged of courtiers.

  “One of those who she destroyed had been her own beloved son, a Fae of great power and regard. He now languishes in Tir na nOg with the dead.”

  He glanced at both Conall and Lainn, growing apprehension on his pale face. “I’ve disturbed you too much, I see. I shall halt our tale and continue another day.”

  The silence grew heavy after Ammatán stopped speaking. Conall’s sense of ease and safety had fled in an instant, and Lainn’s eyes shifted to the trees and the pond with nervous flickers.

  “Fear not, Conall and Lainn. You are under my protection. No lesser Fae may harm you, and I will do my best to keep you from the wrath of those above me.” Ammatán clapped his hands together and chuckled. “And now, I have part of my vow to keep. Now that your sister has regained her health, I shall show you the way to your world, should you choose to leave.”

  Like anxious ducklings after a mother duck, Lainn and Conall followed Ammatán as he led them out from the roundhouse and around the pond. As they passed the first path, he pointed. “This leads to the Faerie Queen’s palace. Do not take that path unless she has summoned you.”

  Lainn shuddered and grabbed Conall’s hand. He squeezed it for reassurance. They continued around the pond. When they came to the path across from the roundhouse, Ammatán paused, almost causing Conall to crash into him. “Do not touch the stones when we arrive, do you understand? It can cause great confusion and transport you to an unknown place in your realm. Only touch if I tell you to.”

  Startled, Conall nodded, as Lainn did beside him. They glanced at each other as Ammatán walked down this path, sudden apprehension growing in Conall’s heart. Did the Fae mean to take them to a dangerous place, after all? Had this been some elaborate trap or a way to bind them to this place?

  With cautious steps, they followed the white-skinned one. Tall reeds soared on either side of the path, cutting off any view of the countryside. Lainn put her hand out to touch the reeds, but Conall slapped it down. “He said not to touch anything!”

  “He said the stones. These are reeds.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Don’t touch.”

  She scowled at him but kept her hands at her side.

  The reeds fell away to an empty glade, clear except for five soaring black stones, jutting in a circle in the center. Each one glittered with silver inclusions, despite the lack of sun. Entranced by the beauty, Conall let out a sigh of wonder.

  Lainn smiled and reached out her hand. Before Conall might stop her, she remembered Ammatán’s instructions and halted. She glanced at the Fae, and he shook his head. She dropped her hand.

  “These stones are attuned to your plane, the human world.”

  “There are other worlds?”

  He nodded. “There are many planes. Faerie is just one, standing between your human world and Tír na nÓg, the land of the ever-living. Other planes stand elsewhere, such as Tír fo Thuinn, Emain Ablach, or Mag Mell. Other sacred people live in other lands, but these are the lands bound to your island.”

  The ideas of so many realms swam within Conall’s mind. Lainn asked, “How do we travel to those other planes?”

  Ammatán shook his head. “You do not. Not unless one of the Fae or the Tuatha Dé Danann bring you there. The planes of other deities are similarly forbidden. The only place you may travel without assistance is your human plane and Faerie. Even then, you must honor the gateways and know their secrets.”

  Conall ached to touch the stones as Lainn had almost done, and wondered if a magical compulsion lay upon them. He gripped his hands together to ensure his obedience. “Will you teach us these secrets?”

  “Some of them, yes. Those you need to know.”

  What other secrets might Ammatán know? The fate of his father itched at Conall’s mind, but Ammatán had already made it quite clear he wouldn’t speak of this subject.

  “When you approach the
stones in your world, it should be during a sun feast or fire feast. You know of these days?”

  Lainn nodded. “Yes. Sun feasts are the solstices and the equinoxes. Fire feasts are the midpoint days between those.”

  The Fae nodded his smile wide. “Just so. You’ve studied such things?”

  “With the druids.”

  His smile fled, and he took a troubled swallow but continued. “If you approach the stones from Faerie, however, such times mean little. You may depart on any day. Even in your world, the passage is possible on other days, but the way is more difficult.”

  Conall nodded, praying Lainn would remain silent about the druids. Ammatán clearly cared little of them.

  “Approach from the north and walk around them in a circle. Go the opposite direction the sun travels, three times. This will attune your human bodies to the stones. They will warm and hum, signaling their readiness.”

  He continued the instructions as Conall took note, but he knew if he missed any details, Lainn would recall them. Part of her training as a druid had been to memorize the information she discovered.

  As they returned to the roundhouse, they settled for a meal. Conall ate his food with half a mind, thinking about what his father might have done with this information. Perhaps he didn’t die, but escaped to Faerie? Might he be wandering around one of the planes, alive and well? How would Conall discover such information?

  A raucous call brought their attention to the sky. Sawchaill dove down among them, and they all covered their heads from his talons. Instead of attacking, though, he dropped a small package.

  When he’d fluttered to the thatched roof to groom his wings and cast a gimlet eye upon them, Ammatán threw him a dirty look and picked up the package.

  The exquisite box looked like chased silver and gold in filigree patterns, not unlike the designs on Conall’s brooch. The overpowering smell of lilacs, rain, and musk made him so dizzy he sat lest he fall over.

  With slow movements, Ammatán opened the box. When he lifted the delicately-carved lid, rose light engulfed the clearing and Conall caught his breath. Pressure upon his lungs and mouth shoved him to the ground. Lainn fell next to him, leaving only Ammatán still standing, the box in his hand.