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

by Christy Nicholas

  Several workmen stopped to watch them as they approached.

  Lainn glanced at Conall. “How long were we gone, brother? This had been a simple, wattle-and-daub church the day before we left.”

  “I don’t know, Lainn. Masonry like this takes years. We must have at least been gone six months. We left in winter, and now it’s mid-summer at least.”

  She nodded with great reluctance. She narrowed her eyes at a man digging a trench for an outer wall. “Conall, he looks familiar. Who is he?”

  Squinting his eyes, Conall noted the burly shoulders, solid barrel chest, and even white teeth. He shook his head in disbelief. “But…but T-T-Tomas should be my age. That man is at least twenty seasons older than me. His father? I thought his father had died years ago, though.”

  Lainn whispered in his ear, her eyes darting between the man that looked like Tomas and the workers staring at them. “We should leave, Conall. I’m uncomfortable in this place. We don’t belong here.”

  “Shh. I mean to discover information.”

  A pleasant male voice caught their attention. “How may I help you, children? You are well come to Cluain Eraird. Do excuse the noise.”

  They turned to see an older man, perhaps around sixty seasons, with a round belly and a fringe of white around his head. His smile grew wide below sparkling blue eyes.

  Conall bowed to the Christian priest. “Thank you for your welcome, priest. May I ask how long this construction has been working? I apprenticed to a mason, you see, and am curious about the time such an impressive project takes.”

  “Do call me Father Finnian, lad.” The man gazed into the sky, rubbing his white-stubbled chin with an audible rasp. “Hmm. Let me see. We drew up the plans in the year of Our Lord 535. Then we got approval from the Archbishop the following summer. We had a great deal of trouble finding the right stone, as the nearby quarry was already mined out. I believe construction began two summers ago. We should be finished in another two summers, if God blesses our progress.”

  “I’m so sorry, Father. We’ve lived in the hills for a long time, and I don’t remember how your Christian years work. How do your numbers compare to the reign of our chief Muircheartach mor mac Earca?”

  The old man scowled. “Muircheartach? Why, he’s been dead these last nine years, killed in the twenty-fourth year of his reign. Tuathal Maelgarbh ruled for eleven years after him, and now Diarmaid mac Cearbhaill has ruled for four more. You aren't old enough to have remembered Muircheartach, my son. You’re barely twenty years old yourself, and the young lady here might be fifteen, at the most. Where, precisely, have you been living?”

  Conall did quick calculation in his mind, knowing Muircheartach had been in the eighteenth year of his reign when they escaped into Faerie. With growing dread, he glanced to where the man who looked like Tomas leaned on his shovel, watching Lainn with speculation.

  He grabbed Lainn’s hand. “I am so sorry to have interrupted your work, Father. Thank you for your time. We must be going!”

  They ran down the path, ignoring the priest’s startled protest. When they exited the tree tunnel, they both stopped to catch their breath.

  Conall turned to his sister as he panted. “Did you figure out how long we’ve been gone?”

  She nodded staring at the path behind them. “Over twenty winters. That must have been Tomas, after all.”

  A female voice spoke behind them. “Tomas? What about my Tomas?”

  Conall and Lainn both turned to find a tall, stout woman carrying a large basket on her ample hip. With a momentary shift of perspective and a second of disorientation, Conall recognized her.

  Before he blurted her name, Lainn came to the rescue. “We’re searching for cousins of ours, a brother and sister who left years ago. However, we’re told their mother might still live nearby. Perhaps you knew them? Their names were Lainn and Conall. The mother is Ligach.”

  Several expressions flickered across Aoife’s face, from frustration, disappointment, and finally, resignation. “You look remarkably like your cousins. Yes, I remember them both. They disappeared one night and no one’s heard a whisper since. Ligach and Sétna both still live in their old homestead.” She turned to glance over her shoulder and wrinkled her nose. “If you go down along that path about three leagues, you’ll find it. It’s near an old, worked-out quarry.”

  Lainn thanked her and Aoife observed them as they passed. Conall felt her eyes boring into his back after they’d passed. Just before they’d walked out of sight, he glanced back. She still watched, a pensive expression on her face.

  Lainn giggled. “I can’t believe that was Aoife! She looks so old and fat!”

  “Lainn! That’s not nice. If she’s married to that lout Tomas, she can’t have had an easy life.”

  Lainn stopped smiling. “Fair enough. I suppose once you disappeared, she had to settle for the brute.”

  He glanced back again, but the path had curved too much for him to catch sight of Aoife. “I wonder if I would have settled for her if I’d stayed.”

  “I thought you didn’t like her?”

  “You’re right, I didn’t. I still don’t. But…” His throat closed as he thought of Ammatán and what he’d had and lost with the Fae.

  “Gemmán always told me not to worry about ‘what ifs’. He said we had the will to choose our paths, even if we don’t always choose the best one. Every path, wise or not, can teach us something important.”

  What had his choice of Ammatán taught him? That he could love? How idiotic he had been to love a Fae? More likely, how stupid he had been to trust Bodach.

  Lainn stopped. “Conall? What if something’s happened to Gemmán? If it’s been twenty winters, he might have fallen ill, or injured, or too old…” Her expression turned so bleak he hugged her.

  “We’ll find him, Lainn, right after we find Mother. We must find her, right? She’s our mother. We have a duty to her.”

  Lainn nodded, looking at the forest floor. “Aoife said both Ligach and Sétna lived there. I suppose it’s too much to hope Sétna died or left, isn’t it?”

  With a wry chuckle, he nodded. “Too much, indeed. Still, twenty winters is a long time for an adult. He will be weaker, older. I’ve grown in muscle and strength in Faerie, even if it’s only been a little while. I’ll protect you, Lainn.”

  Her answering smile turned half sad and half sardonic. “You’d better, big brother. That’s your duty, too.”

  He draped his arm around her shoulder, and they headed to their old home in a much brighter mood.

  Chapter 17

  As they approached their home, their mood grew somber. They held hands and turned the bend.

  The roundhouse looked as if it had been neglected for years. Vines sprouted from the thatch in some places and showed black rot in others. Moss clung to the kerbstones, and weeds choked the path and the garden. He just glimpsed the quarry, but a pool of standing water in the center had grown green with algae and cattails.

  Conall didn’t know what he’d expected, but this wasn’t it.

  His mother had never been particularly vicious with cleaning, but she would never have allowed such a slovenly state. Even Sétna, as much as Conall detested him, had a basic sense of neatness and order which he found difficult to fault. What had happened to allow their home to descend into such a state?

  He glanced at his sister. From her expression, her thoughts echoed his. As one, they walked to the door. Conall hesitated and then rapped on the doorframe.

  Nothing stirred inside, so he knocked again.

  Something crashed, shattering the silence and making both of them jump. With another glance at Lainn, Conall pushed his shoulder against the wooden door.

  It took several tries, as the door stuck, but it finally flew open with a bang.

  The putrid stench assaulted them, and both staggered back.

  Another crash came from inside the gloomy interior, and Conall covered his nose with his hand and forced himself into the roundhouse.


  The interior looked unrecognizable. Where previously a central table had been ringed by neat alcoves and shelves, now a mélange of broken pottery ripped fabric, and rotting food lay on every conceivable surface and the flagstone floor. Searching the shadows for anything that moved, Conall went from space to space, stepping carefully. After a while, he stealthily drew upon his power and swept aside the broken pottery to avoid injury, forming a circular path around the edge.

  When he finally reached his mother’s alcove at the far side of the roundhouse, a figure on the cot moaned. He recognized her voice and knelt by her side. He dug under several layers of sweat-stained cloth and matted furs to find a wasted shadow of his mother.

  Lainn knelt on the other side of the cot, taking Ligach’s hand. “Conall? What’s wrong with her?”

  Conall looked at her mad, unfocused eyes, her drooling lips, and her dirty face. “I am no healer, Lainn. You would have more training than I do, from Gemmán. What do you think?”

  She stared into her mother’s eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know, either. We need help.”

  With a crazed screech, their mother snatched at their hands, pulling them into her chest and wailing. “He’s coming! He’ll come for me, and he’ll come for you! The branches, the trees, they’ll come for us all! You cannot run, you cannot hide! The vines will rip you and bind you and tear you apart!”

  With growing horror, Conall searched his mother’s eyes for any shred of sanity, but found none. Her haggard face and prominent bones made her look halfway to death, but the crazed eyes removed all vestiges of his mother’s familiar face. She’d become a stranger.

  A roar behind him made him spin, ready to face this new threat. The wasted form of his stepfather had lifted a shattered stick of furniture with both hands over his head. The same madness that haunted his mother’s eyes shone in Sétna’s.

  Conall had no time to think. He yanked on his magic and shoved Sétna away, hearing him crash into the darkness. A strange shimmer covered everything and popped, like a bubble, until something restricting his heart eased.

  Conall grabbed his mother’s left hand, wrestling it down to her side.

  Lainn stood, her eyes wide. “Conall? What happened to him? How did you do that?”

  As he tried to catch the other hand, he glared at his sister. “It doesn’t matter now. Help me with Mother.”

  She crossed her arms. “What do you imagine we can do, Conall? If you can’t tell, she’s gone mad. Holding her down won’t help. She needs healing. Neither of us is a healer.”

  After taking a deep breath, Conall realized Lainn had a point. “Fine. At least grab her other hand, so she doesn’t hurt herself.”

  Lainn held their mother’s hand and waited while she twisted and wiggled, trying to get free of her captors. She spat out curses to them both, though it was clear she didn’t recognize either of her children. Eventually, she wore herself out and drifted into a troubled sleep.

  “Will you stay with her? I’ll go find Adhna. He might be able to help.”

  “Adhna? He might be long dead by now. He’d already been old twenty winters ago.”

  Conall sighed. “I have to try, Lainn. Don’t you see? This is all my fault. I took us away, and left Mother to Sétna’s care. I should never have abandoned her.”

  Lainn looked at their mother’s haggard face. “Go find Adhna. I’ll wait here.”

  With a brief flash of gratitude in his smile, Conall put their mother’s other hand into Lainn’s.

  “Be quick, Conall. I won’t be able to hold her if she wakes again. And when things have calmed, we’re going to talk about what you did to Sétna.”

  At the mention of his name, Conall remembered to check on his stepfather. He had crashed into the large wooden block table. It had caught him in the middle of the back. Conall caught his breath at his stepfather’s blank, staring eyes before he allowed himself to breathe again.

  Emotions warred within him. Relief at the freedom from his stepfather’s rage and abuse, either for him, Lainn, or Mother. Guilt at killing someone, anyone, even such a horrible person. Shame for such a cretinous action, using magic to kill. Inaction paralyzed him until Lainn yelled at him. “Conall, just go! He only got what he deserved.”

  After swallowing his shame, he threw one last glance over his shoulder. Lainn held their mother’s hand to her chest, speaking to her in low, soothing tones while caressing her head. He turned and sprinted out the roundhouse door and along the river toward Adhna’s cottage.

  The landscape had changed. Twice he took a wrong turn, expecting trees where none existed or where the bend in the river had shifted. Once he came close to Aoife’s old homestead, and he veered away. Surely she lived with Tomas now, but he still had no wish to deal with an encounter just now.

  When the cottage finally came into view through the summer leaves, Conall gasped. The place hadn’t changed in the slightest in over twenty winters. The same ivy-ridden thatch topped the same crumbling kerbstones. Even the trees around the cottage looked the same age.

  He slowed his pace as he approached, marveling at the oddity. When he finally rapped on the doorframe, he did so hesitantly, not expecting an answer.

  A querulous voice came from behind the oaken door. “What do you want? Go away.”

  “Adhna? Adhna, is that you?”

  The door flung open to reveal the old man, exactly as Conall had left him.

  “Conall? Conall, is that really you? You’ve returned! My boy, my boy, you have no idea how good it is to see you safe and sound.”

  Suddenly, the old man’s arms engulfed Conall as Adhna buffeted and hugged him to within an inch of his life. His hair smelled of honey and moss. When Adhna finally released him, his grin looked fit to crack his face. “You are a sight for an old man’s eyes. Is Lainn with you?”

  He peered over Conall’s shoulder, searching for a sign of Lainn, but Conall shook his head. “She’s at our roundhouse. Well, our parents’ roundhouse. It’s Mother…she needs healing, Adhna. She’s gone quite mad. Can you help?”

  The smile faded as he stared into Conall’s eyes. “Your mother? Oh, my dear boy, I’m afraid I can’t help. I don’t have such power. I’ve seen her now and then, and your stepfather as well.”

  Something must have shown in Conall’s expression, for Adhna asked, “What, Conall? Did Sétna do something?”

  After casting his gaze down, Conall said, “I did something. I…I think I killed him, Adhna.” He looked up, hoping for forgiveness. “I didn’t mean to, truly! He tried to hit me with something, and I didn’t think. I just took power from the brooch and flung it at him. I pushed him away, and he hit his back on the table, and…”

  Relief settled the lines of Adhna’s face, and he hugged Conall again. “Be at ease, lad. It’s all you can do. You must defend yourself, and I’m glad to know you will when you must. It’s all Sétna deserved, after all he’s done.”

  He pulled himself from Adhna’s arms. “What’s he done, Adhna? What do you know?”

  The older man shook his head, the beads in his beard braids rattling in a staccato rhythm. “That’s not my tale to tell, lad. Suffice to say no one will mourn the man. Now, about your mother. I can’t heal her myself, but with your help and Lainn’s, I might know a place where we can ask for help.”

  Conall narrowed his gaze. “What place?”

  Adhna studied the young man for several moments. “You have learned caution, my lad. This is a good thing, though a sad necessity. This place has its dangers, but it’s the only way I can think of getting true help. Are you willing to trust me?”

  Conall considered his options. He had no way to heal his mother, and no way to find another healer. Even if he’d known one before, twenty winters later, people would have moved away or died. Adhna’s offer remained his only choice. He nodded.

  “Grand. Now, let me get a few supplies. I’ll be out forthwith.”

  After scrambling back into his cottage, Adhna shut the door. Conall heard bum
ps, scrapes, a few muffled curses, and one crash of broken pottery before the bearded man returned with a small sack and his walking staff.

  “Come now, it’s not too far. Wait, have you eaten aught today, child? You look as if I could knock you over with a feather.”

  Conall tried to remember the last time he’d had anything to eat. His puzzled expression gave Adhna all the answer he needed. The older man pressed a chunk of white goat cheese in his hand along with a small loaf of rye bread. “Eat this, then, for strength. You know I must care for you if I give you my cheese, lad!”

  With a chuckle, he stalked off, using his walking stick as they climbed a little-used path leading from the back of his cottage. Conall followed, breaking the bread in two, inserting the cheese, and taking a bite. He took a moment to savor the rich, sweet cheese and the rich bread. Adhna must have flavored the cheese with honey to get that flavor.

  Chapter 18

  As they crested the top of the hill at dusk, Conall beheld the vista before him. Misty valleys lay like gray pools across the landscape, with hills rising like islands from the sea. The purple twilight enfolded each hill in a velvet embrace, and Conall sighed for the wonder of the human world. Day and night, sun, moon, and stars. How he’d missed the simple pleasures of the cycle of life.

  When he glanced at the hilltop itself, his blood grew cold. There stood three small standing stones, arranged in a tight circle. They shot sharp and thin against the deepening sky, an ominous harbinger of danger.

  “Adhna? Where is this place? I’ve never seen it before, in the years I’ve lived here.”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t find it unless you knew the road, child. It’s hidden from most humans.” Adhna pulled several items from his pack, including a bowl, a waterskin, honey, and a small wheel of cheese.

  In his past life, these words would have intrigued him. Now, with his skin prickling, Conall backed up. “I don’t think this is a good idea, Adhna.