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

by Christy Nicholas

With a nervous gulp, Conall glanced at Lainn. She remained still and silent. If only she would give him a clue, an idea of what she wanted. He didn’t want to make such a momentous decision for her. If Bodach healed her sight, how would he deny her the chance?

  “Yes, consider your sister, human. Consider her well. I shall not make this offer another day. This is your one and only chance to restore her vision. Choose wisely.”

  “What is the price? There’s always a price.”

  “Of course, there is. I ask for little from you. Others will pay my price.”

  Paid by others. How could he condemn another to pay the price for his sister’s sight?

  “Come now. I will not hurt you, nor your sister.”

  Never make a bargain with the Fae. Wise words he’d heard all his life. Every tale, every story, emphasized this basic truth. Yet he’d come to Faerie with Ammatán, in a basic bargain that had saved their lives. He’d made a bargain with the Faerie Queen and escaped alive. A surge of confidence burgeoned in his heart, telling him he knew the trick of it now. The tales he’d heard never told of bargains done well. He must trust they existed, as he’d already seen the truth with Ammatán.

  Bodach’s whisper drilled through his mind. “Ammatán has left you, human child. Why would he ever come back to you, a mere human boy? He’s found another lover, a better lover.”

  Conall screwed his eyes shut and covered his ears, trying to block the Fae’s insidious words.

  “I’m your sister’s only chance, human child. Say yes to me.”

  He shook his head, wishing he might run away and escape the hissing urges. If he ran, his sister would be helpless to Bodach’s cruelties. Conall would never leave her.

  “You are the reason she is blind, human. Shouldn’t you be the reason she can see once again?”

  With a desperate glance at the door and a prayer for Ammatán to arrive and save them both, Conall closed his eyes, gripped the knife so tight his fingers went numb and nodded.

  “What’s that, human child? Was that an agreement? I must have it in your own voice for the bargain to be binding, you know. Come, delicious human. Speak to me. Give me your assent.”

  With his eyes still closed, Conall said, “Yes, Bodach, I agree to your terms. Please restore my sister’s sight.”

  The chuckle began slowly, increasing with volume as Bodach circled the table once again, to face Lainn. A green glow formed around his knobby brown fingers, almost like leaves sprouting from twisted branches. This glow entwined around Lainn’s head, and Conall knew he should have waited for Ammatán.

  The power thrummed through the earth, a deep hum Conall felt in his bones. Flashes of pale green sparked within the deeper green glow, and Lainn gasped, clapping her hands over her eyes. She cried out, an anguished scream of raw terror. Conall rushed to his sister, putting his arms around her shoulders to shield her from further harm. Her skin felt icy and stiff, but she still lived.

  The laughter boomed through the room, assaulting his ears and mind. What had he done? Why hadn’t he trusted Ammatán to return? Thumps and bumps sounded through the roundhouse, but Conall didn’t watch. All he could do was hold onto his sister with all his might and try to save her once again from his own poor decision.

  Wind swirled through the roundhouse with furious force, whipping their braids around their heads. The noise and power pummeled them until he thought he’d go mad from the sound.

  With the suddenness of a thunderclap, the sound and fury ceased. Cracking one eye open, Conall found no one else in the roundhouse amidst the destruction. He and Lainn were alone.

  Except for Sawchaill, who lay on the ground.

  Lainn blinked several times, glancing around her with trepidation and growing wonder. Her eyes grew wide until she noticed Sawchaill. With a cry, she jumped to his side, cradling the still raven in her arms.

  Her wails echoed through the roundhouse with more agonizing pain than the furious wind had.

  Chapter 15

  What a difference a few hours can make.

  Earlier that day, Conall had lost all hope in life, sitting next to his sister as she wasted into death by the loss of her sight. His relief at Ammatán’s unexpected return and the subsequent disaster with Bodach made him question every tale about fate, curses, and destiny.

  He’d fallen asleep while he worked for the Queen, and his poor decision resulted in Lainn’s blindness. Then, he’d agreed to allow Bodach to cure her blindness, and his poor decision resulted in Sawchaill’s death. Sawchaill, who’d helped Lainn through her blindness, had become her dear friend and support. Sawchaill, who’d helped them countless times through their stay in Faerie. Sawchaill, who’d been his own love’s dearest companion.

  The lifeless body of the ink-black bird had turned stiff, but Lainn still held the large raven in her embrace. She sobbed so hard it turned to hiccups, trails of snot and tears all over her face. He knelt beside Lainn and placed a hand on Sawchaill’s cooling body, tears running down his face and arm, mingling with hers.

  Conall didn’t know how long they knelt. Both ran dry of tears, but still, they couldn’t rise. He imagined it must be time for supper and sleep, but he felt no hunger. His exhaustion wasn’t the sort he could sleep with. This exhaustion meant every disastrous moment replayed in his mind, stealing sleep from the horizon. He would find no rest.

  Ammatán said he’d be gone several sleeps, but Conall had no way of tracking of time in such a way. He couldn’t sleep, he didn’t want to eat, and he possessed the motivation to do nothing but care for Lainn.

  The dead raven in Lainn’s arms became his only reality.

  A gasp from the doorway made him glance up with dread in his heart. Ammatán’s stricken face stabbed him to the quick. He should try to explain, try to shield his love from the grief, but he only sat next to Lainn while she held Sawchaill.

  In an instant, Ammatán sat next to them, pulling the raven’s body from Lainn’s arms. The stiffness of death had faded with time, and the limp wings flopped as Ammatán cradled the raven in his arms.

  Lainn cried out and tried to take the raven back, but Ammatán turned, rocking the dead bird and humming a tearful tune. When she tried to place her hand on Sawchaill’s head, Ammatán hissed, clawing at her with his sharp nails. He drew blood in three parallel scratches, and she screeched, falling back. Conall dragged her away from Ammatán and the raven.

  “Lainn, we must rest. Leave Ammatán to his grief. We’ve taken our time to mourn. We must allow him the same.”

  She gulped and nodded. She even managed a tiny, sad smile as he brushed his hand across her braids. “We both need to bathe properly. I’ll fix some supper.”

  Finally broken from the spell of mourning, Conall made Lainn eat, wash, and drink while preparing food for Ammatán, though he knew the Fae would have no appetite.

  The hearth burned down and Conall added wood to the fire. Lainn helped him sweep and straighten the roundhouse, all the time working around the Fae, who sat cross-legged near the hearth, still holding Sawchaill’s body.

  Once, Conall stepped too close to the grieving Fae, and Ammatán growled at him. He didn’t scratch as he had with Lainn, but whether this was due to a mellowing of pain or the desire to hold Sawchaill more closely, it didn’t matter.

  His heart ached to comfort his love. He wanted to take Ammatán in his arms and make him forget his anguish, to wipe away the suffering and distress. Ammatán had mentioned he’d been linked with Sawchaill since he was young. Conall didn’t know how long that would be in human years, but they’d been friends for Ammatán’s entire life. Sawchaill had been a best friend, a confidante, a companion. If someone had murdered Lainn, Conall might feel the same level of agony.

  A glance at his sister allowed him finally to grasp the fact her vision had returned, and as a result, she’d returned to the land of the living. She swept the sleeping alcoves, and he drank in the sight of her moving on her own accord. Despite his horrible decisions, he’d finally done right by her
.

  Sawchaill’s life had been the cost.

  Had the payment been worth the result? Would he rather have reversed time, take Lainn’s sight away from her again to have Sawchaill back? He didn’t know. How did one balance a life against a disability? How did one barter pain for convenience? Sawchaill had been a sentient, living creature. He’d been a beloved friend and companion. What price would he pay for such a life lost?

  A horrible, wailing keen drifted through the roundhouse. Conall glanced around to discover the source of the sound and noticed Ammatán’s head flung back. He howled, his eyes closed and his teeth bared. He gripped Sawchaill so tightly, his fingernails pierced the raven’s body. With nervous glances to the Fae, Lainn drew him aside. “We should go outside, I think.”

  With a glance at his tortured lover, Conall agreed. They stepped outside, and Conall glanced to the thatch where Sawchaill liked to perch.

  Eight enormous ravens perched along the edge of the roof.

  Ammatán’s moans increased in volume, ululating like a gale wind whipping through an oak grove. His voice grew rough with anguish. The ravens on the roof all fluffed their wings in unison and added their voices to the keen, making Conall’s skin pebble with the unearthly sound.

  With the additional birds’ voices, crashing sounds from inside the roundhouse began. Thuds and rips, punctuated with a screeching yowl that wouldn’t stop, tore at Conall’s sanity. When Ammatán stood in the doorway, his feral face held nothing of the kind, loving Fae Conall remembered. Instead, a crazed, wrathful visage glared at them, panting with savage breaths and feral hunger.

  His robes hung in shreds and his snow-white skin looked raked with lines of pink blood. Conall took a step forward, his hand out to comfort Ammatán, but the Fae screamed. Conall halted as the Fae rushed toward him, his hands outstretched like talons for his face. Lainn yelped and tackled Conall to remove him from the Fae’s path.

  They both scrambled to their feet as the Fae slowed and turned to find his missing target. No bit of reason or sanity remained in Ammatán’s black eyes. They glittered with visceral lunacy.

  Once more, the Fae lunged for them. Conall still held the bronze knife in his hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to stab his own dear lover.

  His brooch! He’d completely forgotten his own power. With desperate haste, he drew upon his will, pulling it through the earth and into his hands. He wrestled the power out just as Ammatán attacked him again, shoving the Fae into the pond.

  Given a momentary reprieve, Conall dragged Lainn into the roundhouse, praying he’d be able to get his brooch in time. He stuffed several chunks of bread, fruit, nuts, and the last of the dried fish into a bag, grabbed his sister’s hand, and ran out of the roundhouse. One last glance at Sawchaill’s broken body brought a surge of grief to his eyes, but he pushed it away. He had no time for tears.

  Ammatán dragged himself out of the water, his eyes still glowing with madness over the dark ripples. With another magical thrust, Conall returned him to the pond while he and Lainn ran along the path. Around the pond, they ran with ragged breath and frantic speed. They passed the first trail, the one to the Queen’s palace, and raced to the second one. Down the reed-lined track they fled, as Conall glanced over his shoulder several times, waiting for Ammatán to appear. After endless searching, they found the black stones with no trace of the dangerous Fae.

  Ammatán had told them to walk three times around the stones, opposite the sun’s path. Instead of walking, they ran, almost tripping over their own feet. Conall grabbed Lainn’s hand as they reached the end of the third circuit, and together, they placed their hand on the interior face of the northernmost stone.

  Instead of being chilly, the stone radiated warmth which spread through his arms and down his body until it connected to the earth. A sound near the entrance to the glade made him glance up in time to see Ammatán, fraught with rage, emerge into the glade, just as the vision of Faerie faded from their sight.

  Part III

  Chapter 16

  Birds chirped in Conall’s ear. The sound reminded him of Sawchaill’s death, and the tears surged. He pushed them away and opened his eyes to see a bee buzzing lazily above him. A hawk swooped down and ate the bee. Conall shuddered.

  He still held Lainn’s hand in a summer-sweet stone circle he didn’t recognize. Trailing vines wrapped around each stone, while a canopy of flowering trees ringed them, cutting off all landscape from view.

  “Lainn, wake up. We’re back home.”

  She rubbed her eyes and sat up, looking around. “This isn’t any place I recognize.”

  “Not home, home. I mean, the human world. Our island.”

  She nodded. “Ah. Have you any idea where we are, then? In relation to our real home?”

  He shook his head, breathing in the rich, humid air. Meadowsweet and honeysuckle cloyed the air, along with sun-warmed stone and recent rain. Sunlight streamed through the trees, dappling the ground in dancing shapes, delighting his eyes and memory.

  Faerie had been heart-breakingly beautiful, but the lack of sun and familiar creatures kept it an alien place. He felt more at home in this strange part of his world than he ever had, even in Ammatán’s arms.

  At the thought of his lover, the tears refused to stay away. They burst through his dam, ripping his throat raw. He screamed and pounded the ground with his fists until they grew bloody.

  He sobbed over the loss of his love, his first love, the only person he’d ever surrendered himself to. The one and only night they shared seared in his memory, both from sheer joy and utter sorrow. His heart had emptied to a shriveled husk.

  Lainn put her arms around his shoulder and held him as he cried. “We’ll find our way back home, Conall, I promise. Gemmán taught me the stars, and how they appear at home. I’ll discover where we are now when they emerge tonight.”

  How could he explain to her the real reason for his tears? He almost wished Ammatán had caught them, torn him apart in crazed grief. Conall deserved such a punishment for his failures. Justice demanded Ammatán should deliver such a sentence.

  With no will left to move on his own, he let Lainn draw him to his feet. Neither of them wished to remain near the stones in case Ammatán followed. Neither of them spoke of their fears. They didn’t need to.

  For several days, they traveled south, toward the land they once called home. Around bogs, along rivers, and past túaths, they walked in stunned silence. Occasionally they stopped to work for food, fish in the river, or snare a rabbit. Such living off the land came much more easily in the height of a lush summer than in the depth of a cruel winter.

  Each night, after Lainn fell asleep, Conall remembered Ammatán and cried himself to exhaustion.

  As they found their familiar landscape, the túaths looked larger, more populous, than when they left. Before they came to their home, they passed the entrance to the oak grove, but it grew wild and unkempt.

  Lainn furrowed her brow, concerned at such neglect. “Something isn’t right, Conall. I need to find out what happened.”

  Conall frowned, glancing down the path toward home. “We need to find our mother, Lainn. Gemmán can wait.”

  “No, we have to do this first.”

  Still harboring his guilt over all his poor decisions, Conall wouldn’t deny her.

  Lainn grabbed his hand and pulled him in through the tree tunnel. The blessed sunlight disappeared, creating chilly gloom and mysteries in every shadow. Branches reached for him to scratch his skin. Conall’s heart sped as they walked through the passage to the oak grove.

  He sighed in relief as they emerged to the other side, but the glade seemed different from his memory. Where tall oaks had ringed the circle, with several paths leading into the cheery forest, now only two paths remained. Fewer oaks stood, while several appeared dead or dying, their rotten trunks split by lightning or fire.

  Lainn gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, tears glistening in her eyes. Conall searched for any sign of life, b
ut even the bees had disappeared.

  “They can’t all have gone, Conall. Where would they go? Why would they leave? This is a sacred space, the land consecrated for seven generations. The Dagda blessed this grove.”

  “Perhaps they found a better grove? We might find a clue down one of the remaining paths.”

  Her eyes darted between the two choices and pointed to the left. “Gemmán used to live in his hut down this path. I’m sure this is the right one. It must be. He can’t have gone.”

  The rising desperation and panic in her voice concerned Conall. He set his jaw as they walked down the wild path, pushing aside the undergrowth and bracken as they walked. A raven cawed, and both halted, searching the leaves for the bird as it fluttered away. The wake of silence as the bird flew away grew heavy upon both their shoulders.

  As one, they continued down the path, which widened as they approached the second clearing. A small, round stone hut stood in the center, surrounded by modest gardens and a lone beehive.

  With a small yip of delight, Lainn ran to the door. She rapped on the frame several times, but no one came.

  She looked around. “This is Gemmán’s home. His garden looks recently weeded. He must still be here.”

  “Not at the moment, it seems. Let’s go home, Lainn. We can come back later when he’s home.”

  She shook her head, her eyes once again darting around. “I need to check the other path. That’s where the small Christian chapel stood. He might be visiting the monk.”

  * * *

  After backtracking down the path, they turned down the other. This seemed wider, more traveled, than the path to Gemmán’s hut. This clearing held not a small chapel, but the active construction of a large church.

  Conall didn’t remember such a large building so near to his home. He’d never been in a Christian church, but this would have been a sight for any mason to marvel at. The foundation seemed a full forrach long, enough to fit three of Sétna’s large roundhouses inside with plenty of room to spare. Tall walls seemed almost complete, and scaffolding for the roof had been erected. The foundations for several side buildings lay prepared and awaiting stones. Conall studied the details with wonder and confusion.