When he cast his net that morning, she waded in with him. While raising her arms, she sang out in a nonsensical chant, perhaps the same ancient form of the language the Queen had used during their mating contract. As she chanted, his nets grew heavy until the river current almost pulled him off balance.
Tomnat caught his shoulder before he fell into the water and then grabbed one edge of the net to help him pull it onto the beach.
Never in his entire life had he pulled in such an enormous catch. Scores of silver fish wiggled within his net, struggling to get free of the woven trap. A few broke free, but still, at least a hundred remained caught within. Thankful he didn’t have to haul it up a bank of steps, like his last home, he dragged the haul to his new workspace. Tomnat, despite her round belly, sat to help him clean them all.
In quiet companionship, they worked to skin, clean, and debone the fish. Most of them would need to be dried, or they’d go bad. He asked Tomnat to set up the drying rack, which quickly filled. He worked on creating a new one while she fed Conall, and then they resumed the cleaning.
It became a rhythm. Fingin used the bronze knife the Queen had gifted him to remove the thick skin, peeling back from head to tail. He cut a shallow incision along the bottom. With his fingers, he dug out the innards, dropping them in a pile. Scraped out the inner membrane. Chopped off the head, fins, and tail. Then he filleted the remaining flesh from the bones, cutting it into thin strips to hang over the drying rack.
After the first few fish, he no longer expected Bran to come eat the innards.
The sun had long since set before he had finished the massive catch. Tomnat had retired as twilight embraced them, holding her belly and complaining that her back hurt. Fingin pressed on to finish his task before he slept.
By the dying firelight, he placed the final fillet on the rack and stretched his back, his arms high over his head.
How far had he come, in truth? He still spent his days fishing, cleaning, and selling his catch. He still lived far from any village. While he had a wife and son, neither of which good conversation or compan y. He’d felt more companionship from Bran, despite being hound rather than human. His body tired more easily than it had before. Perhaps he just needed to rest more.
A moan from inside the roundhouse interrupted his musings. He ran inside to find Tomnat bent over double on their sleeping mat, curled up like a baby.
“Tomnat? What’s wrong? Is the b-b-baby c-coming?”
“Of course, the baby’s coming, you idiotic human! Ohh! I wish I’d stayed in Faerie! Your world is horrible.” Her pain radiated through the house, the moan shaking his bones.
He ran to boil some water to make stew, knowing that would help, but he had no other ideas. No midwives or healers lived nearby. When he’d broached the subject of moving closer to a village for such purpose, Tomnat had squashed the idea.
He grabbed Brigit’s charm and held it close, praying for an idea. When it grew cool in his hand, he slipped the cloth over his head and placed it around Tomnat’s neck.
She curled her lips at the charm. “What’s this? It burns! Take it off!”
“Burns? It’s ice c-cold!” He tried to get it back around her neck. “You need t-to wear it. It’s a healing charm. Brigit g-gave it to me.”
She grabbed his forearm, her nails turning into wicked points. “That’s cold iron, you prime idiot! I can’t touch it!” Her eyes grew wide. “Brigit? She gave you a charm?”
“Of c-course. I thought you knew? The Queen knew.”
“Since when has the Queen ever taken me into her confidence? Ohh!” She gripped her belly as a visible tremor spread across it.
Fingin swallowed and put the charm back around his neck, at a loss as to how he should help. “Is it the baby? Is he c-coming? How c-can I help?”
Tomnat waved him away, her nails back to normal. “You can do nothing. Just stop bothering me.”
He wasn’t ready to abandon her in her state, though. “I’ll…I’ll make some stew. Maybe I should sing, t-to distract you? This isn’t your first b-baby, so you should know how, right?”
Her face screwed up in a rictus of pain, making her moan again. She panted after the latest contraction released its grip.
Fingin sent out another prayer to Brigit, anything to help the mother of his child. He didn’t know what to do. While he’d seen animals give birth, he’d never seen humans. He’d been too young to remember his younger brother born.
For a few moments, the contractions eased. Tomnat refused to answer his questions, so he worked on steeping the onions, turnips, and garlic. He added some burdock leaves and fish, then a sprinkle of precious salt. Something warm and savory would be good for a new mother, someone once told him. Maybe it had been his grandmother, back before she’d disappeared. Back before she became the Faerie Queen.
Another moan rattled his nerves.
A female voice outside shouted. “Sorry I’m late! I only just got the call. What in the name of Danú took you so long?”
He turned to see Brigit, looking even younger than when he’d left her hut. She bustled in and knelt next to Tomnat. “Oh dear. Yes, I see. This is your first birth in the mortal realm, is it not? Indeed. I can help, my dear. You should have known better than to use the charm on a Fae, Fingin. Now, out with you. Neither of us needs your help. Shoo!”
“B-b-but the stew…”
“Curse the stew. Leave. I’ll take care of everything.”
Fingin shuffled out, confused, relieved, and anxious. He didn’t go far, hovering outside the front door, close enough to hear Tomnat’s continued moaning, Brigit’s terse commands, and the stew bubbling and hissing on the hearth. His stomach rumbled, and he wished he’d thought to scoop out a bowl of stew for himself before he escaped.
He didn’t like Tomnat. They’d formed no friendship bond, much less affection. But her anguished cries still tore through his heart. Every screech and sob made him want to rush into the roundhouse and take her pain away. He paced back and forth, arguing with himself about braving Brigit’s certain wrath, or remaining outside to suffer the wails of the mother of his child. Suffer? How could he consider what he went through suffering when Tomnat’s voice ripped at the walls in her torment?
The long day caught up with him, and he curled up against the outside wall. He hadn’t even remembered to bring a blanket, but the late spring evening remained mild. He lost the battle with sleep while wishing Bran would curl up against his back.
Chapter Fifteen
A baby’s squalling cry broke his slumber.
Fingin rubbed his hands across his face to wipe the sleep from his eyes. The cry didn’t sound like Conall’s. The realization that Tomnat must have given birth made him jump to his feet, and then catch the wall to keep himself from falling over. Despite a long sleep, he still had little energy.
Upon entering the roundhouse, he noticed several things. Brigit held a red-faced babe, Conall slept next to her in a pile, and Tomnat had vanished. She must have gone to the river to wash.
He smiled at Brigit, grateful for the goddess’ attention to his prayer and his family. “Thank you f-for your help.”
“You’re in well over your head with this lot. Now, would you like to hold your daughter? Tomnat has named her. Lainn, meet your father.”
She placed the tiny baby in his arms, but the babe kept her eyes screwed closed, no matter how much cooing and tickling Fingin tried to open them. He contented himself by rocking her against his chest. A son and a daughter. Conall and Lainn. His own precious family. He glanced up, looking for Tomnat.
“Ah yes, about that. Tomnat has already returned to Faerie.”
He blinked, not understanding. “What? Did she f-forget something? She’s been here for m-m-moons. Why did she need to go fetch it now?”
“She’s not coming back, Fingin. Tomnat’s done what she set out to do.”
“She wanted b-babies. Why would she abandon them?”
Brigit smiled and put her arms out for the bab
e. Fingin didn’t want to give her up, so held her more closely. Brigit shrugged. “Tomnat thought she wanted babies. She did everything in her power, pulled on all her favors, to make that happen. However, sometimes what we want is not what we need. Once she bore her child, a crying baby she must pay attention to every day, all day, then faced seasons doing the same in this mortal world with a creature she barely tolerates, she realized how much work they would be. She and I spoke before she left.”
What woman would abandon her children without a backward glance? No human woman, of course. Fae wasn’t human. He should not ascribe human motives or needs to a member of the Fae. Fingin shook his head and peered again into his daughter’s face. Her eyelids seemed translucent, finer than any butterfly wing. A bee buzzed into the roundhouse and lit upon her forehead. She wrinkled her brow, and he waved the bee away, lest it sting her perfect skin.
“I’ve someone coming to help you, but you must find a human wife, someone willing to help you raise your children. Now, I’ll send prospects your way.” Brigit rose, brushing some dried rushes from her skirts.
Fingin’s panic rose. “Wait! D-don’t leave yet! How do I f-f-feed her?”
“I cannot stay, but Adhna is on his way. He’ll have milk, blankets, anything you need for the child. He’s rather competent, for a male.”
Fingin glanced at Conall, sleeping next to the hearth, and at wee Lainn, burbling in his arms, her eyes still closed tight. It didn’t bother him overmuch that Tomnat hadn’t even bid him farewell. They’d been in a forced partnership, not one built out of love or even affection. She tolerated his presence as a necessity, and he remained with her out of duty. It bothered him that she’d been able to abandon her children, the flesh of her flesh. Did Fae possess no maternal instincts at all? Or was Tomnat an exception? He wanted to imagine Airiu would be more tender-hearted.
“Airiu! I must let her know I’m f-free!” But no one answered.
Before the darkness claimed the night, Adhna arrived. He carried a small bundle, smaller than Fingin’s daughter, who now fussing and grunting in his arms. “Greetings to you, young human! I’ve a gift and a message for you.”
“A message? From Airiu?”
He chuckled. “No, Airiu couldn’t send a message. However, Bran sent you this.” He held out his arms, and a squirming days-old puppy opened brown eyes, melting Fingin’s heart. He wanted to cuddle the small dog, but his arms remained filled with his daughter, who he didn’t want to relinquish.
“A p-p-puppy? Is he Bran’s?”
Adhna grinned, his eyes crinkling with suppressed joy. “Indeed, she is. Bran found a Faerie hound he is fond of. The puppy is called Brí. Bran asked if you would care for her as you cared for him.”
“Tell me B-b-bran at least ate Bodach’s clothing? P-peed in his shoes?”
With a chuckle, Adhna grinned. “As a Fae, I’d never lie directly to a mortal. Therefore, I cannot tell you Bran has refrained from such sabotage.”
With a wide grin, Fingin looked around at his new family. In turns, he hugged Brí, his son, and his daughter. He’d subtracted two friends, added a wife and a son, then subtracted a wife, then added a daughter and a new puppy. His math had never been strong, but the results pleased him. He now only ached for one more person.
“You said Airiu c-can’t send a message. Is she a p-prisoner?”
“Not a prisoner, but not free, either. She cannot risk a visit to the mortal realm now. The time difference is too great, young man. She’ll have other duties now, with no leisure to gallivant off to your world whenever she wants. Bodach has seen to that.” His expression grew pensive.
“What? What has Bodach d-d-done? He survived the battle, then?”
“Oh, yes, he survived. The Queen has not been kind to him, but he lives. He takes his anger and frustration out on the lesser Fae. Airiu is one of them. The Queen protects her as much as she can, but she cannot leave.”
Fingin squeezed Lainn too hard, and the child whined, but he rocked her back to sleep. She fussed for a few minutes before drifting away. “What can I d-do to help? This is all my fault. She shouldn’t have to suffer for my own actions.”
Adhna shook his head. “You cannot return. Bodach would kill you as soon as you set foot in Faerie. He’s set out sentries at all the entrances, in case you should try to sneak in. No, you must stay away from Faerie for the nonce. Perhaps someday, seasons from now, he will relax his vigil, and you can find Airiu again. Now, however, you’ve a human mate to choose. Brigit told me of your plight, and I’ve selected several options for you.”
Each young woman Adhna brought him seemed sweet enough. However, none of them seemed to possess any sense of delight, any spark of intelligence. He searched in each woman’s eyes for the spark he’d found with Airiu, but remained disappointed.
He dreamt of Airiu’s silken hair, her velvet skin, her musical voice. The stories she told, the conversations they shared. Their hopes and plans. None of the human women Adhna brought carried even a glimmer of that magic.
After a moon, Adhna threw his hands in the air. “Stop being so stubborn, Fingin. You’ll never find a woman like a Fae in these humans. Stop looking for true love and settle for true comfort. You have children to feed. Look at your daughter. The goat’s milk isn’t good for her. She should have grown more by now. Conall’s weaned too young. Have you no thought for the health of your children?”
Ashamed, Fingin hung his head and sighed. “You’re right. I’ll t-take the next young woman you bring.”
Adhna crossed his arms. “Oh, no. I’ve scoured the countryside for eligible brides, and you’ve turned them all down. Now it’s up to you to find a mate. I’m done trying.”
Him? He’d never been any good at finding people, much less wooing women. But Adhna didn’t lie. He’d squandered the offers given, so now he must find his own.
“C-can you at least fix my voice for a while? I c-c-can’t woo a woman with this stutter.”
Adhna frowned. “I would if I could, young man. However, you’ll just have to push through it. Magic is not the answer to everything wrong in the world.”
The next day, he went to market, dried and fresh fish for trade. He’d also woven several mats using Airiu’s exquisite patterns. Perhaps his handiwork would attract the eye of a prospect. He brought both his children. Any woman would need to know what she was getting into with him from the beginning.
He held out little hope. As Adhna mentioned, the local countryside held few options. Still, sometimes, a relative would visit from another valley.
The baker’s daughter, a small round girl about his own age, had been one of Adhna’s suggestions. She sent him a vague smile as he passed by, looking for a place to set out his goods. He strolled by the tanner’s stall, which shared a space with the cooper. They had no daughters, but he waved anyhow. Talking remained unnatural, so he kept silent by default.
The blacksmith, a burly, dark man with curly hair, nodded as he settled in the next open spot. He had no daughters either, but a young woman carried a load of wood to his furnace. Her dark brown hair escaped her braid, and a smudge of soot marred her face, but she flashed him a friendly smile. He didn’t recognize her at all.
He set out his fish, his mats, and arranged the children to keep an eye on them. Lainn lay in a wide basket he’d made, while Conall he kept in his lap, the child occupied with a wooden puzzle game Fingin had carved last moon.
A few people came by, and by midday, he’d sold half his fish and two of his five mats. In return, he’d gotten a small iron pot and two warm wool blankets, both green. The children would need them, especially come winter.
The dark-haired blacksmith’s helper stood behind him, hands on her hips. “So, what’s your name?”
He nodded to her, with a smile, but didn’t stand. Conall offered him an excuse to remain sitting. “I’m c-c-called Fingin. What’s your name?”
“Ligach. Do you live nearby?”
Epilogue
They married with littl
e fuss. Ligach told him right away she was barren. She’d married before and gave birth to a misshapen monster. The druí told her she’d have no more children, and her husband left.
“So when I saw you already had children, I thought you might take on a wife who would bear no more.”
He didn’t fault her logic. He enjoyed talking with her. She spoke her mind, even if she chattered more than he liked. Sometimes he even missed Tomnat’s taciturn ways, but now he lived in a real home, with a real family, and a real life. He’d fathered two delightful children. When he got old enough to stand in the river, he’d even teach Conall how to fish. Lainn became a bright child who loved to listen to the stories he’d learned in Faerie. Ligach didn’t seem as enchanted by the stories, but she didn’t object when he entertained the children. He didn’t have the undying passion for Ligach he’d felt for Airiu, but her company made him content.
Adhna remained close by to help when he felt lost. His puppy grew strong and loyal, just like her father. He had friends who made him afraid to be afraid. He’d grown rich beyond his dreams.
Several years on, Fingin still didn’t recover his strength. Each day he felt more tired than the last. Had he grown old so quickly? He counted thirty winters. Even his morning ritual, welcoming the sun and the power of the earth through his body, did little to ease the growing fatigue that permeated every bone. He still delighted in the sunrise, but the delight didn’t sink into his soul.
Adhna told him he might have to leave the mortal realm himself one day. The time he’d spent in Faerie latched onto his soul, it seemed. It ached to have him back, and pulled him every day.
Someday, when his children grew older, he’d return. Bodach would lose interest in hunting him down, and he might search for Airiu. They might go off together to some unknown corner of Faerie, or maybe even Tír na nÓg. However, he must wait until his children grew enough to care for themselves.
Soon.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Age of Secrets: Druid's Brooch Series: #8 Page 23
