Age of Secrets: Druid's Brooch Series: #8

by Christy Nicholas

  The bubble enveloped the Fae man, making him cough and sputter. The mist turned from white to a sickly yellow, swirling into an ominous brown.

  He staggered back but did not fall. Instead, threw his arms out and broke the bubble, dispersing the menacing fog. He laughed. Loud and long, a rasping saw against rotten wood, his laughter burrowed into Fingin’s ears like a beetle in the dirt.

  As his mirth died, Bodach raised his left hand and threw something at the Queen.

  No object appeared, but she took several steps back, surprise clear in her widened eyes. She set her feet apart, and forbidding determination took over her face. She gathered her air power once again, now crackling with tiny bits of lightning within the orb. The edges shimmered with rainbow reflection, an odd beauty masking the danger within. She flung the ball of sizzling energy at Bodach.

  He ducked, but it swerved back and sought him out as if a dog on a rabbit’s scent. Bodach ducked again, this time plowing down to the earth, ripping up a grass divot in his efforts.

  With a feral smile, the Queen pulled upon her power again. This time, the well water rose in a spinning spout. Tomnat scrambled back out of the water, her baby clutched close to her chest. She crawled to where Fingin huddled, behind the low stone wall around the well.

  The waterspout grew tall and long, arced overhead, and pounded into Bodach’s body as he lay on the churned ground. Mud and water spurted in a furious clash around him. Bran chose this moment to bark with furious volume at both the Queen and Bodach.

  “Bran! Hush, and get back over here. Stay out of this!”

  He barked a few more times for good measure, but finally obeyed Fingin’s command and retreated to his side.

  When Bran moved, the Queen’s eyes flicked to the hound, and she lost control over the waterspout. The water crashed to the ground, no longer imbued with her spell.

  Fatigue etched lines around the Queen’s eyes, but she raised her hands again. This time, though, Bodach acted faster. He threw his invisible missile not at her but at her feet. The ground exploded beneath her, and she fell on her back, eliciting a surprisingly human “oof.” Bran woofed in response.

  The ground continued to churn, boiling like a thick stew, engulfing the Queen bit by bit. She scrambled to break free, but the roiling dirt shot out strands and twists of gnarled roots, grabbing her clothing, her legs, her waist. She let out an angry cry and raised her arms, once again calling a waterspout from the well. This time, she directed it at her feet, pounding back the aggressive ground, beating it back again and again until it retreated. She remained covered in mud, but she stood free from Bodach’s latest trap.

  She turned to her foe, grim determination clear on her face. Her lips compressed so hard, they’d faded from berry-red to white.

  Tomnat took Fingin’s hand and squeezed, the first human gesture she’d ever made toward him. For a moment, his heart opened toward her. Fingin flashed her a quick, nervous smile and squeezed her hand back. He searched the area for Adhna, but he must have left before Bodach arrived.

  He glanced at the well, hoping they might make their escape. The stairs descended on the opposite side, right next to where the Queen and Bodach battled.

  A boom drew his attention back to the two Fae. Smoke wreathed them, obscuring who had launched the latest attack, or how either fared. Sounds of cracking, hissing, and buzzing drowned out any clues he might have gotten. Bran stood restless next to him, his hackles raised, still barking at the combatants.

  The barking made his head pound. He couldn’t figure out who had the upper hand. Sparks flew from inside the cloud of smoke and a cry rang out. Had that been a female cry? He held his breath, hoping to hear his grandmother’s voice again.

  He crept toward the edge of the well, but another boom from the cloud made him flatten against the ground. When it subsided, he tried again, gesturing to Tomnat to follow. He whispered in a tight command. “Bran! Stop barking! We can’t help them. All we can do is escape.”

  Bran ceased his barking, but only for a moment. He whined and growled as they crawled toward the steps.

  Blue fire burst before them, making them all cringe back from the heat and the light. It seemed the air burned with the cerulean blaze, and Fingin prayed to Brigit that his grandmother might survive the flame. Voices cried out from inside the battle zone.

  Fingin burned to hurt Bodach, but his grandmother had been crystal clear with her command. He must not pursue revenge for his brothers’ deaths. Fingin must make his way to the mortal realm with Tomnat. Would her command still hold true if she perished?

  Fingin peered into the smoke. The fire dimmed, but he saw no trace of his grandmother.

  He wished for wind to clear the air, but no such thing existed in Faerie, except by the Faerie Queen’s power. His eyes smarted with the smoke, and ash filled the glade, floating like snow on a winter’s day. He grabbed Tomnat’s hand and helped her to her feet.

  The mist began to clear, revealing both his grandmother and Bodach lying on the ground. He rose without thought and ran to her, Brigit’s charm in his hand.

  Adhna’s voice speared through the mist. “Fingin! Stop! She can take care of herself!”

  “I can’t, Adhna! I have to help her!”

  If anything might heal a Faerie Queen, the magic of a goddess might. He skirted far around the bark-skinned Fae and slid to his knees at Cliodhna’s side. He struggled to move her head to his lap, draping the pendant around her neck. The cloth turned icy, burning his hands with hard frost. The mist returned, enveloping them both with a sickly sweet odor, a mixture of lavender and burning peat.

  Bran barked again, and bounded toward him, into the thick of the smoldering smoke.

  “Bran! No! Stay back!”

  The hound didn’t listen but entered the thickest part of the cloud. A loud yip followed by a pitiful whine induced Fingin to call to his friend, into the sullen gray maelstrom. He had to leave his grandmother and find Bran. He glanced at the charm, but after a moment’s consideration, left it with her.

  Fingin felt around for either his hound or his grandmother. His hands found nothing in the darkness, but the heat blistered his skin, and the air choked his breath.

  The flames licked out in another blast, forcing Fingin back again. Something fell into his legs, and he fell under the onslaught. Painful, raking fingers gouged at his skin. He cried out, and frantic barking began. Bodach’s face appeared a mere handspan from his own, a ghoulish grin on his face. The Fae gripped his head in bark-covered hands and squeezed.

  The pressure grew so painful, he screamed despite himself. His throat, already raw from breathing the smoke, grew hoarse and broken. Bodach’s weight upon him doubled, and Bran’s teeth sunk into the Fae’s wooden shoulder, ripping with great strength.

  Bodach tumbled back, surprise on his face. His hands dug divots into the soft earth. He glanced behind him into the flames and let out an evil laugh. The scent of burning, rotted carcasses permeated the atmosphere. Parts of his skin glowed like embers as he batted at them with frantic desperation. He cast one last glare filled with bitter hatred toward Fingin and escaped from the smoke-filled glade, disappearing into the trees.

  Fingin cast about with his hands, searching for Bran. “Bran! Bran, where are you? Grandmother? Are you there?”

  He found something and gripped tight. The fur felt like Bran’s, and he tried to pull him away. The dog didn’t move and seemed to be unconscious. With a grunt, he knelt and lifted the dog to carry him out.

  He staggered under the weight of the enormous hound. Fingin stumbled out of the still-smoldering smoke, step by deliberate step. Once he fought clear, he took a deep lungful of clear air. He placed the dog on the ground and caught his breath again.

  Tomnat knelt by the dog, Adhna by her side. Deep streaks of red matted the gray fur. With frantic fingers, Fingin searched for some sign the dog still breathed but found nothing. One shallow, ragged breath moved the dog’s flank. Fingin fumbled at his léine, yanking at the clot
h that held Brigit’s charm, but it remained around the Faerie Queen’s neck.

  A hand on his shoulder made him glance up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. His grandmother, scruffy and torn, stood behind him, Brigit’s charm still glowing around her neck. Soot covered half her face, and her long, black hair had burned off in patches. Bodach’s attacks had ripped and burnt her elegant gown to tatters, exposing sections of reddened skin. If he’d ever doubted her human heritage, he didn’t now.

  She took the charm off and handed it to Fingin with solemn dignity. “Have a care with this, Fingin. It might have killed me more easily than healed me. I’m thankful we’re related.”

  Confused, he pressed the charm into the dog’s fur, urging the magic to work faster than ever.

  With a voice ragged with tears and smoke, he cried out. “Please, Brigit, listen to my prayer. Bran has been a loyal friend and a valuable help. Don’t let him die, please!”

  Grimnaugh came running, panting and sweating. They glanced at the carnage the battle had left, but Bodach had escaped.

  Adhna knelt before his grandmother. “My Queen, how can we help?”

  She took a deep breath and placed a hand upon his head with tender care. Her touch almost became a loving caress, as lovers might exchange. Then her icy dignity returned, and she straightened.

  Grimnaugh clenched his fists, his expression thunderous. “May I have permission to destroy Bodach, my Queen? I would derive considerable pleasure from such a boon.”

  Her eyes sparked with fury. “Nay, neither of you may touch him. He is mine to punish. I want him to remain alive, a long life to do his penance for his crimes.”

  The anger died, and she turned to Adhna and Grimnaugh. “However, I do have a favor to ask each of you. Adhna, I need you to travel to the mortal realm and watch out for Fingin and Tomnat. Ensure that Bodach doesn’t harass either of them, nor the children.”

  Fingin spoke up, his hands still pressing the healing charm into Bran’s flank. “Children?”

  “Shush, Fingin. Yes, Tomnat is carrying another child. Now, Grimnaugh, you have another task.” She knelt by Bran and put her hands on the dog’s head. Bran twitched and let out a pitiful whimper. Fingin’s heart leapt in his chest. Had the healing charm worked?

  “Brigit’s charm’s depleted and must return to the mortal world to recover its strength, Fingin. Bran will not survive such a journey. However, he may yet live, with constant care. Grimnaugh, will you care for the hound? If he returns to his own world, he will perish.”

  Fingin cried and cradled the dog’s head in his lap as Tomnat pulled his arm, eager to escape. He didn’t tear his gaze off Bran’s still-shut eyes. “I won’t forget you, Bran! I promise!”

  The Faerie Queen pushed him toward the steps. Tomnat and Adhna led him down into the water. Not until the surface engulfed his head did Fingin stop watching Bran. Then he needed all his attention to keep breathing through the passage to the human world.

  * * *

  Adhna led them out of the sacred well and into a dense forest, a different place from where he’d entered Faerie.

  “What about Sean? He’ll be waiting f-f-for me at the other well.”

  The Fae shook his head. “The loyal donkey has long since moved on, Fingin. It’s been longer than you know.”

  His throat clenched. He’d lost both his friends. He hoped Sean had found a friendly farm and a happy life. Fingin glanced at Tomnat, holding his son, and realized he wasn’t alone. He had a family now, a family he must care for and support.

  Adhna led them across the countryside, down a hill, and to a river. They followed the river until a sheltered hilltop, surrounded by pine trees, came into sight.

  Fingin stopped to stare at the trees. “We’re going th-there?”

  The Fae nodded. “The family who lived there left some time ago. It’s large enough for a family.”

  The roundhouse sat next to a gentle bend in the river with a lovely view of the valley beyond. Autumn colors painted the oak trees around them. Weary from their journey, both Tomnat and Fingin collapsed on the ground, their backs against the outer wall.

  Adhna, despite appearing to be older than either of them, remained spry and energized. He’d led them to this place, a larger roundhouse than even the one Fingin had grown up in. A large pen stood next to the roundhouse, large enough for several cows and a pig or two. An herb garden and a larger plot for other crops completed the property.

  Now he had a family to support. They wouldn’t survive by fish alone. Adhna had assured him he knew a place they’d thrive in. “I’ll find you some livestock and some supplies. You take care of yourself, your wife, and your son. I’ll return in a few days.”

  He turned to stop the Fae, but he’d disappeared.

  With motions numbed by fatigue, he walked into the roundhouse. While it had some winter trash in the corner, the place seemed too clean for an abandoned roundhouse. He spied no holes in the thatch, nor any rotten places in the daub and wattle walls.

  A whistling wind whipped through the open door and slammed it shut, making all of them jump. He turned to Tomnat. “Rest. I’ll take C-Conall and sit outside for a while. I’m tired, but I can’t sleep. Not yet.”

  He searched for Bran, but then remembered his beloved friend remained in Faerie, cared for by Grimnaugh. His heart ached for his friend, but the dog would be better off in the other world. With a few deep breaths to stave off the tears, he gathered wood for a small fire.

  After he built the crackling hearthfire, he searched for other supplies he’d need. Grasses and fibers for making a new net, logs for carving into furniture and bowls, flat rocks for work surfaces. Tomnat still slept, but he’d fashioned a sling for his son to ride in on his back as he completed his tasks. The child slept, content to hug his back. Fingin had to smile every time the child tightened his grip.

  Every now and then, he’d see something, like a rabbit warren, which brought Bran back to mind, and it would be a few moments before he could continue. Like any grief, the effects should lessen with time. However, it remained strong and raw for now. Odd how grief for losing his dog, his friend, his loyal companion, grew so much deeper than that of his own flesh and blood.

  He’d mourned the loss of his brothers years ago when he first left home. They’d never been kind to him. He honored them as family but never counted them as friends. Still, it seemed odd not to feel more rage for their deaths. He had a score to settle with Bodach, though, regardless of his affection for his brothers.

  Perhaps he should find another dog, someone to be a companion for him, someone to help protect Conall. He didn’t doubt Tomnat would be fierce enough for her own sake, but would a Fae mother be as strong a protection for her half-human children? He didn’t know.

  Conall woke and began to fuss. He dropped the bag of stones he’d been carrying and swung the child around, holding him on his knee. He bounced a few times and cooed at the child, giving him a bright smile. His son echoed his smile with a gurgling laugh, which made him grin with delight.

  The world fell away around him as he gazed into his son’s eyes. All the burdens and responsibilities of being a father crept upon his shoulders. He no longer lived just for himself, surviving day by day to eat and sleep. Now he had a family he must care for and support, teach and nurture, keep from all danger and despair. And if the Queen had been correct, Tomnat had another child coming.

  He’d dreamt of having a family, with children at his feet and a small farm to support them. Somehow, though, he hadn’t imagined this. However, if his speech had returned, he would enjoy this odd new life for as long as he had it.

  When he returned to the roundhouse with his latest load of stones, Tomnat had wakened. She held her arms out for Conall and fed the fussy child. This elicited another smile from Fingin, who set the stones along the edge of the roundhouse floor, to cut down on winter drafts.

  Tomnat had said few words to him since the battle in Faerie. He wanted more than a silent wife. He wanted
someone who would be a partner, someone to talk to. Fingin realized he must start any conversation. “We’ll have to take some t-t-time to make bowls and cups, but I think we can make this a c-cozy enough home.”

  She glanced up as if surprised he spoke. “Why don’t you search through the packs? The Queen might have provided some items.”

  He’d forgotten the packs. He knelt by the largest flat stone he’d found, one that he might craft into a table top, and emptied his pack on the surface.

  Amongst packets of salt, flour, cured bacon, several carved bone spoons, and a set of lovely carved wooden bowls, he also found a small bronze cauldron and a leaf-shaped bronze knife. Another item peeked out from under the packet of bacon. He extracted the shiny object to examine it and caught his breath.

  There, in his hands, lay the brooch. The intricately carved gold and silver brooch, with blood-red stones that his grandmother had gifted him so many winters ago. This same brooch she’d taken with her when she stole his voice. The same brooch he’d vowed to ask her for, but had to leave before he’d had a chance.

  The same brooch that now grew so warm in his hands, he had to place it back on the stone.

  Tomnat narrowed her eyes. “What in the name of Danú is that?”

  “That, T-tomnat, is my legacy.”

  * * *

  Tomnat’s belly grew as the months passed. They’d emerged from Faerie in the height of autumn, and through the bitter winter, she’d grown more surly. Nothing Fingin did would cheer her spirit or convince her of his affection for her.

  His energy came at a cost. Even the light tasks he used to love, like casting in the river several times a day, left him exhausted. With grudging generosity, Tomnat offered to help.

  “If you only cast once a day, you won’t be as tired. I can speak to the fish.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I c-c-can speak to the fish, too. Getting them t-to do what you ask is a different matter.”

  She flashed him a knowing smile, almost mischievous. “Just watch.”