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

by Christy Nicholas

  “That wasn’t a promise.” More anger flickered at the edges, and his voice took on a multi-tonal quality, similar to that of the Faerie Queen.

  The cold spot in Conall’s bowels took over his entire body. “I promise! I promise not to search for my father. Not yet.” The air shimmered slightly, a wave of distortion across his view.

  Ammatán’s expression lightened, a cheerful smile blossoming across his face. He brought Conall a bag with nuts and a loaf of bread “Thank you, Conall. Now, this should bolster you through the day. Here’s a water skin. Before you leave, though, I must speak to you.”

  After taking both items, Conall squinted at him. “Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

  The Fae took a deep breath and stared at his toes. “I have to leave.”

  “Leave? Leave where? For how long?”

  “Leave here, but I’m not sure for how long. I have to find someone, but I’ll be back when I find them.” He looked back at Conall, a plea for understanding in his eyes. “You and Lainn are free to stay here while I’m gone. I must entrust Sawchaill into your care. Can you watch him for me?”

  His skin grew cold, and his heart beat faster with fear of the unknown. Feelings of betrayal and injustice warred within Conall. “But we just…you can’t leave me so soon! You made me promise not to leave, but you’re leaving? That’s not fair!”

  “Nevertheless, I must. I would never leave you so soon if I had a choice. You understand this, Conall, don’t you? After last night, when I pledged my heart to yours? We’ve shared a piece of our soul now. We are forever connected in a way I can never explain, but we can both understand.” Ammatán took Conall’s hand in both of his own, kissing him on his palm. “I wanted one night with you, one sweet night we’d both hold in our memories before I left on this mission.”

  Conall wanted to storm off and sulk until Ammatán changed his mind, but if the Faerie Queen had commanded Ammatán somewhere, he must not disobey her, no matter what emotional pouting his lover did. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  “Then you must go, Conall. Go. Work on the Queen’s project. Take Sawchaill with you today. Please her with your wonderful vision and skill. I will be back before you realize it.”

  Ammatán drew him into a fierce embrace. Conall’s tears made him tremble. Why did he feel so deeply, so intensely, after just a few encounters? They’d spent one night of love, just one, and his heart had been ripped from his chest and torn ragged.

  When his sobs eased, Ammatán loosened his hug and held him at arm’s length. Conall whispered, “Ammatán, Can I…can I keep a lock of your hair?”

  The Fae’s eyes grew wide, his expression darkening once again. “You don’t understand what you ask, Conall.”

  Too late, Conall remembered tales where locks of hair, bits of fingernail, any piece of a body might be used for heinous spells, to bend another’s will to your own. He shook his hands, hoping Ammatán would forgive his mistake. “Nothing sinister, I swear! Not for an enchantment or a spell. I wouldn’t know how to do one anyhow. I just want to keep something of yours. Something to sleep with at night.”

  His eyes shifting toward the road which led to the Faerie palace, Ammatán jerked the knife from his belt sheath. His rapid action made Conall take a half-step back, certain he’d offended the Fae beyond repair. However, the Fae simply held out a lock of his hair and sliced it with the knife, kneeling as he offered the gift to Conall. “Take my love and my trust with this gift, my mortal beloved.”

  Tearful again, Conall accepted it, curling trembling fingers around the precious lock, midnight silk against his skin. “I will keep it secret and safe, Ammatán.”

  Ammatán, still kneeling, bowed his head. “I must go now.”

  He faded into nothing.

  Chapter 14

  With a heavy heart, Conall climbed onto the floating raft, ensuring Sawchaill followed, and zipped through the windy path to his work area for the Queen. He went through the motions, following his own plans and diagrams with little thought for the artistry or the future. He needed to get through this until Ammatán returned.

  Sawchaill had perched on one of the dressed base stones when he began that day, and stayed quiet. He fluffed his wings now and then, but Conall ignored it. He offered some of his bread to the raven, but Sawchaill disdained his offering and flew off for a while. When he returned, a small, unidentifiable creature, some type of blue rodent, wriggled in his beak. Conall watched as the bird eviscerated the creature, leaving bloody stains upon the base stone.

  Watching the ferocity of the raven’s meal gave Conall a measure of satisfaction. Perhaps tearing something apart would make him feel better. After casting around for a suitable target, he spied a fallen branch with some purple leaves still clinging to it. He stalked to the branch, picked it up, and shredded each leaf with violence and growing frustration. They didn’t tear like normal leaves but stretched and snapped. He needed to yank each piece apart, or they went back to their original shape. Finally, however, he stood in a pile of purple scraps. The frenzy had marginally calmed his temper.

  He sat back at his block and resumed work. He now constructed the second stones, more detailed than the base, with the first hints of a vine crawling through the veins of the marble on each side. This meant he must leave twining stripes in relief, rising from the bottom and ending at the top in two or three branches. This required careful drawing and carving, something his magic wouldn’t help with.

  Just as he hammered the chisel on an essential part of the third branch, Sawchaill cawed, startling him out of a day’s growth. He’d almost ruined the branch, and the anxiety erupted into a curse.

  “Blood and bones! Sawchaill, don’t do that!”

  The bird squawked back, fluttered his wings, and shook his head. Conall rose, wiping the dust from his hands. “In fact, go on back to Lainn. You’re only distracting me here. Go on, shoo!”

  He flapped his hands at the bird until he flew away, chattering back at him as he left. Closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath, Conall calmed himself once again and sat to continue his branch.

  When he returned to the roundhouse that day, his feet dragged, and his head drooped. He’d gotten little rest the night before, though for excellent reason, and the day had drained all his energy.

  He shuffled into the building, to find Lainn and Sawchaill staring at the floor. She’d made several scratches into the dirt floor, and they both glanced up as he darkened the doorway.

  Lainn jumped up, giving him a hug. “You’re back! Excellent. Soup is on the hearth. I’m teaching Sawchaill some symbols. Want to learn when you’re done eating?”

  He shook his head, not even wanting to expend energy for an answer. He scooped some lukewarm venison soup into a bowl, ate about seven bites, and collapsed into his cot.

  Sawchaill’s raucous call in Conall’s ear made him leap out of bed, scramble to his feet, and then glare at the black bird. “What in the name of all the gods did you do that for?”

  Lainn’s giggle behind him made him whirl around, which caused her to burst out in mischievous laughter. As he glared at her, she laughed harder, holding her side and bending over. “Your face! You should see…your face!”

  He stomped to the night basket to relieve himself, and used the wash basin to clear the sleep from his face. When he’d finished his ablutions, he rounded on his sister. “Can’t you even let me sleep in peace? I swear, I wish I’d left you with the druids.”

  “Oh, don’t be mad, Conall. I was just having a little fun. Besides, I needed to prove Sawchaill understood what I drew.”

  “What you drew?”

  “Yes, silly. Remember? I’m teaching him how to communicate with drawings. He drew symbols to tell me he’d grown bored. I drew symbols asking him to startle you awake.” She grinned, and he growled.

  “Did you at least let me sleep long enough for a full night’s rest? I still have work to do, and need my sleep.”

  She nodded, her giggles
subsiding. “Stop being so surly. You should be fine. Sawchaill has a better sense of time than Ammatán does, and can tell when a day has passed. He’s lived in the world a bit more than the Fae has. Would you like to eat?”

  He nodded, still sullen at the jest. Still, he had to admit admiration for her achievement and Sawchaill’s willingness to learn. Maybe it would keep her occupied while he worked, and she’d have less idle time for dreaming up ways to drive him to madness.

  In the back of his mind, he drew great relief from the realization she’d become comfortable here, comfortable enough to play jokes and laugh. This salved his soul from Ammatán’s sudden departure. If he didn’t find joy, at least his sister might.

  Back at the work area, he sighed and assessed his progress. He’d worked on two more stones of the second level today, and still had three more to go until the third level. With eight levels, and each one being more complex and delicate, he daren’t even calculate how much time the project would take. Even if he had a method of measuring time other than when he woke and slept.

  Did his body remember the rhythm of the human world? Did he get sleepy and wakeful with the cycle of day and night he’d lived with all his life? Or would this human memory fade into a mélange of endless nights and short naps? He never realized how much his day relied upon the basic rhythm he now missed.

  “How dare you sleep, mortal!”

  For the second time that day, Conall clambered awake, terrified of the sound of the Queen’s echoing voice, ricocheting off the marble blocks and assaulting his ears from all directions. “My Queen! I am so sorry. I only dozed off for a moment, I swear!”

  “Why have you come to this task without sufficient rest? I have left time for your recovery each rest period.”

  “I’m so sorry! My sister woke me earlier—“

  “Your sister is the creature at fault?”

  Belatedly realizing his mistake, he shook his head so hard his brain hurt. “No! It wasn’t her fault! I swear!”

  A loud crack sounded behind him, and he turned to see Lainn, crouched and bewildered, holding a small stick. She must have been carving out a symbol for Sawchaill.

  She rose and glanced around, stepping toward him. “Conall? What’s—“

  He hissed at her, “Be quiet and stay still!” Turning back to the work area, he addressed the Queen’s voice. “My Queen, this is no one’s fault. I apologize for my slip, and shall promise to be more careful.”

  No answer came, and he held his entire body tense, waiting for the dreaded consequences.

  Lainn reached for his hand, and he squeezed it.

  The light around them dimmed to almost twilight while a tiny bright light formed in the center of the work area. Larger and larger the light grew, shining so strong Conall had to squint in pain. Within the center of the light, a figure formed, voluptuous and sensual, while imperious and strong.

  As the light dimmed, the twilight dissipated, leaving things back to normal, except for the Faerie Queen before them.

  She stood taller than any human man Conall had ever known. Long green locks danced in a windless breeze, ranging in color from the freshest spring green to the deepest moss in the shade. They encircled her head and caressed her body as if alive, and perhaps they were. Her perfect skin faded from dusky red to pale rose. The Queen’s garment shifted as she stood, a cloud of rainbow webbing which accentuated her figure, fondling it with sensual movements. Despite his own fondness for the male form, Conall grew uncomfortable watching the fabric shift and stroke around her curves.

  Her face looked carved from the marble Conall had worked with, sharp angles and cold eyes regarding them both with distaste. Her deep, sanguine lips parted, and before she spoke, Conall felt her voice deep within the marrow of his bones.

  “You have displeased me.”

  These four words almost made Conall’s knees fail in the wake of his gibbering fear. They shot through his soul like an enchanted arrow, intent upon destroying him. He prayed harder than he’d ever prayed before that Ammatán would appear to protect them. Despite his trembling knees, he stepped in front of Lainn to shield her from the Queen’s mighty wrath.

  The Queen stared at him for what seemed like long hours. Her red eyes bore into his mind and ripped open the careful layers of soul he’d grown during his lifetime. One by one, she shredded his defenses, his humanity, and his compassion.

  When she exposed the central kernel of his being, the edges of her lips curved into a wicked parody of a smile. Those tempting, terrifying lips parted, and she laughed. The laugh boomed across the work area in harmonic tones, shaking the ground and causing both Conall and Lainn to fall to their knees. Pain from both the fall and the laugh made Conall curl into a protective ball around his sister.

  “Now I know what you most hold dear, human flea. You displease me, but I shall not punish you. You will finish your work for the day now.”

  Conall felt certain he misheard the Faerie Queen. She wouldn’t punish him after all?

  “This will hurt you far more.”

  Another bright flash of light made them both screw their eyes shut, and when Conall opened his, the Queen had disappeared. The glade returned to normal. The birds chirped and the festiwings fluttered by.

  Lainn still sat next to him, staring at the spot the Queen had stood.

  “She’s gone, Lainn. It’s all going to be fine. She’s left us alone.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  Conall got to his feet and put his hand out to help Lainn rise. “True. She may come back, or do something to us later. But for now, she’s left us whole. For a moment, I thought us both doomed.”

  Lainn didn’t take his hand and continued to stare ahead.

  “Lainn? Come on, stand up. You’re sitting in the spot I need to be in to finish this block.”

  She put her hand out near where his was. Puzzled, he took her hand and pulled her up. She staggered and turned to him, though her eyes stared at his forehead.

  “Lainn? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

  She let out a short, sharp laugh. “I suppose you might say that. I can’t see.”

  Conall’s stomach dropped, and he realized the Queen had punished him with what he held most dear: his sister.

  * * *

  Conall had never seen his sister so dejected. Not when Sétna would take her into the stables in the evening, not when boys teased her for being too smart, not even when their father disappeared. This complete disinterest in everything that life offered rocked him to the core. Her joy in life had fled with her eyesight.

  He hated leaving her alone all day while he worked on the stones for the Queen, but he had no choice. If he fumbled in his duty again, the Queen might take Lainn’s life, or give her eternal pain. He wouldn’t risk such a dire consequence of his own actions.

  To keep Lainn safe, he learned to communicate better with Sawchaill. Using his own words and the symbols they’d worked out, he made certain the raven would watch over Lainn all day and come tell him if she needed help or tried to do something rash.

  When he finished his work, he rushed home and tried to tempt Lainn into loving life. With Sawchaill’s help, he found beautiful, unusual flowers, exotic fruits, brilliant festiwings, new birds to sing for her. None of these made a chip in her armor.

  He told her stories from the past, both funny and heroic. He would make up silly jokes, aching to hear her child-like laughter.

  She only sat cross-legged in front of the roundhouse, staring across the pond with eyes that cannot see.

  After at least twenty days like this, he’d made great progress on his work with the Queen’s project, but Lainn remained the same.

  His own tears came unbidden at random intervals. It broke his heart to see his sister, so vibrant and joyful, reduced to this husk of a human. When Ammatán returned, would he help? Could he restore sight removed with the Queen’s magic? Maybe he should beg for the Queen to change her mind?

  What would they do if Lainn never got her si
ght back?

  Before he fell into just as deep a hole as Lainn, he paced around the roundhouse, glancing outside to reassure himself she remained safe. Sawchaill now brought Lainn treats without direction from Conall. The piles of flowers, fruits, and shiny rocks lay around her in a circle, like a shrine to some foreign goddess. The raven must care about her happiness, and yet, even working together, they never roused Lainn from her misery.

  Every morning and every evening, Conall scanned the horizon in all directions, searching for Ammatán’s return. He made certain Lainn rose from sleep, washed her, dressed her, and made her eat. His sister allowed him to feed her, to help her to the bathroom, but she initiated no actions of her own. She wouldn’t speak. She wouldn’t cry.

  The last broke his heart more than all the others. He well knew what a blessed relief tears can be to any pain.

  Each evening he made her eat again, drew her on a walk around the pond, told her stories, sang her songs. He considered juggling to make her laugh, but she wouldn’t even see his comic antics. She never responded, even when he sang silly or off-key, hoping to goad her into some sarcastic remark about his lack of talent.

  Sometimes he hugged his sister as tightly as he dared, wishing he might give his eyes to her so she might smile again. She remained stiff and unresponsive as if he hugged a straw figure built to scare the crows.

  Maybe if he brought her back to the human world, she’d regain her sight? He didn’t understand how that would work, but Ammatán might help when he returned.

  One day, as Conall climbed upon the floating raft, he nodded to Sawchaill to watch over his sister. The raven drew a symbol in the dirt, acknowledging that he would. Conall swallowed down sudden tears as the raft sped away down the path.

  He only had one final stone to complete, the center keystone in the arches. Just a few more passes with the polishing cloth today, a few final touches, and he’d be ready to shift the last two rows in place. It would take all his magical strength to balance the stones, as he had no scaffolding or forms to hold the stones until the keystone would hold them in place.