Misfortune of Time: Druid's Brooch Series, #6

by Christy Nicholas

  She swallowed. Odhar stood between her and the door, and he outweighed her considerably. She couldn’t shove past him easily. Laughter in her mind urged her to rush to him, to pull him into her arms, but she fought against the temptation.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Odhar, but I must go. Here, this is for you.” She shoved the jug at him. Startled, he looked down and took the offering automatically. She took the chance to rush to the door.

  Once outside, plans whirled in her mind like the wind whipping the snow in the courtyard. She’d have to gather her things and leave right away. It must be immediately. She had no time to lose. She’d make a pack with some food and ale, and be on the road quickly. Furs—she’d need plenty of furs to keep warm on the journey. Where would she go? Her first step would be the dolmen to the north. From there she might relax and think more clearly.

  His running footsteps behind her became a shout. “Étaín, wait!”

  Étaín didn’t want to turn around. That way only led to disaster. She stalked forward, walking faster, ignoring his shouts. She couldn’t ignore his hand on her arm, pulling her around.

  “Étaín, please, don’t run away! We must talk.”

  Her panic rose as she tried to extract herself from his grip. She shook her head and tried to keep from slipping on the ice as she pulled away. “I can’t stay here, Odhar, you must realize this. I must go. Please, please, let me go?”

  His face turned bleak and pale. “But you mustn’t go, Étaín! I have to speak to you. I have news—news of Airtre. And of Maelan.”

  Maelan. Her grandson’s name stopped her mind from swirling with half-formed plans. Everything in her world halted, and she thought of her dear, sweet grandson.

  She gripped the monk’s arms in a frenzied squeeze. “Maelan! Is he well? Is he… has he died? Tell me, Odhar!”

  He crossed his arms and looked at her with narrowed eyes. “He lives, but I’ll not tell you more until you return to my roundhouse. Truly, Étaín, you don’t think I’d ever cause you harm? Just come, sit, and we’ll speak. You have nothing to fear from me, and I’ll not tell anyone of… what I know of you. From before, I mean.”

  She took in a deep breath and nodded before expelling it. He led her back across the icy flagstones. The warmth of the roundhouse became a blessed relief after the stormy winter wind, and she felt glad she wouldn’t need to escape. For now.

  He poured her some warm chamomile tea, and he drank a cup of his stirabout. Then they sat in awkward silence for several moments.

  Odhar cleared his throat. “Maelan is well, Étaín. He is a warrior with the Ua Briains, and has served well with the warchief there. He’s newly married, and Liadan is a lovely girl. Bright and beautiful, and an excellent tracker.”

  She let out her breath. In her first true prayer in a long time, she thanked God her grandchild not only lived well but thrived. She rarely got the chance to hear news of her children or grandchildren after she’d left a life.

  “Airtre, on the other hand… has not fared so well since you left.”

  Étaín swallowed. She truly didn’t wish Airtre ill; she never had, even when he beat her. She also no longer owed him any duty. She’d finished with that life. Yet, she should still hear what news Odhar brought. She nodded for him to continue.

  “Once you disappeared, he became obsessed. He thought you had been taken, or lay ill or injured somewhere. Both Cadhla and I did our best to convince him you were safe, but would never come back. He ignored us.”

  She didn’t want to hear the details, but she couldn’t leave, either.

  “He’d been… entangled, somehow… with some hedge-witch in the village. We believe he took her counsel almost exclusively. Supposedly, she’d convinced him she could contact his dead brother.”

  Étaín nodded, taking another sip of her tea. She relished the warmth as it tickled her throat. “I’d heard about that. I even encountered her once. Nasty woman.”

  He grinned. “Indeed, exactly that. She must have been a charlatan of the worst order, but Airtre had been entirely taken in. She demanded resources to search for you, so he might find his ‘poor lost wife in the wilderness.’ The hedge-witch claimed she might trace you, but it took time and gifts of food and drink for the demons along the way.”

  Étaín rolled her eyes. Airtre had never been the most intelligent of men, but surely he’d had better sense than to believe this obvious charlatan?

  “It took several winters, but he lost everything to her. The farm, his livestock, everything he owned eventually became goods and gold and given to the hedge-witch. One night, she disappeared with all his wealth.”

  Étaín decided she pitied her poor, gullible, stupid husband. Despite his cruelty to her, he had taken care of her and given her a lovely family. He’d protected her for winters and done his duty by her. “And where is he now?”

  Odhar took another gulp of his stirabout, draining the last bit. He wiped the bit left on his mouth with his léine sleeve. “Airtre’s living at the abbot’s expense in the hostelry. He still runs it. He never got any farther in his career, thanks to his obsession with this woman and her false promises.”

  Étaín wondered how much of his downfall remained her own fault. If she’d left under different circumstances…

  “No, Étaín. None of this can be your fault. No, I don’t need special magic to understand exactly what I see on your inexplicably young face.” He gave her a half-smile. “Don’t think I won’t still ask you about that. No, Airtre made this entire mess on his own. On his shoulders rest the consequences of his actions. They were selfish, self-serving, and self-destructive. You can’t take any of the blame.”

  She would, though. She carried the blame for all the lives she touched, as well as the joys. Her magic became a heavy burden which got heavier with each lifetime. Sometimes the pain and pleasure faded with the seasons, but the lives remained always in her memory, eager to reach out and shake her mind into gibbering self-pity.

  She stared into her empty mug, and Odhar took it as a sign to refill it. She cupped the warm mug in her hands for several moments before she drank, thoughtful.

  “Now, as for you, can you please explain how you are here, and not only young, but younger than when I last saw you nigh onto twenty winters ago? It must involve some miracle.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  She chuckled at his suddenly comical expression of inquiry. “You won’t believe a word of it, Odhar.”

  He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “Try me.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

  “Go on.”

  Étaín sighed. “First, you must vow to tell no one of this. I’m certain I don’t need to explain how quickly even news of me might turn quickly into an angry mob.”

  He nodded. “That is absolutely clear. Yes, you have my vow. I will protect you and your secret. Now tell. I’m incredibly intrigued.”

  “The simple answer is I lived in Faerie for some time. When I returned, eighteen winters had passed.”

  He frowned with narrowed eyes. “But Faerie would keep you from aging longer. It doesn’t make you younger, at least, not in any tale I’ve ever heard.”

  She took another sip of her tea. “That’s the more complex part.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

  He grinned. “And this is news to you?”

  She put her mug down and put her hands on her knees, leaning closer. “I have never told any human about this before.”

  He raised his eyebrows and put his own mug down. “Any human? Hmm, that is an intriguing turn of phrase. There are more stories here than I first imagined. Please, go on.”

  She swallowed. Counteracting a lifetime habit would be difficult. “I was young when my mother died. When she lay ill, she gave me a family heirloom, a brooch. This brooch had been a gift to our family from a Fae or a druid many hundreds of winters ago. The brooch possessed magic, and gave each of us a gift.”

&
nbsp; “And what gift did it give you?”

  She opened her arms. “As you see me. I never age. I always look about thirty winters.”

  Odhar furrowed his brow. “But you looked older when I met you! I swear you did. You had wrinkles and white hair, and your skin grew thin with age spots.”

  She grinned. “You’re such a flatterer, Odhar.”

  He turned pale, and she laughed. “I’m teasing you, silly man! That’s another aspect of the magic. With hard work and concentration, I can bend time a little bit, and I can make myself look older. It’s exhausting, and I am much happier if I don’t have to do it. However, being in one place for thirty winters requires me to age myself a little more each moon.”

  “But that can’t work forever.”

  “No, but it works enough to have a family and live my life in happiness for a short while. Eventually, I must leave and start a new life elsewhere. I’d left husbands before, many times, in many lives.”

  Odhar shook his head. “This is a lot to take in. I mean, it makes sense, and then it doesn’t. Why does power over time allow you to age yourself?”

  She shrugged. “I have no idea. It simply works. Maybe it’s an additional factor designed to help shield the user from discovery. Whatever agency created the magic evidently knew power could be dangerous and built in some mechanism to keep it from killing the owner.”

  “Have you explored the limits of the magic? How old can you make yourself? Can you appear younger as well?”

  Étaín had never considered making herself younger. A young woman had even less autonomy than a mature one, so that aspect seemed useless to her. Still, it might allow her to stay in one place longer if she started out younger. Perhaps she would try one day.

  Again, she shrugged. “I’ve made myself look almost one hundred winters before. Luckily my bones aren’t actually one hundred. They feel like I’m thirty. Still, I can’t let on I’m able run a league.”

  He laughed. “I thought of something both hilarious and horrible.”

  Étaín crossed her arms, just like he had. “Do tell.”

  “Well, you’ve heard the tale of Macha and the horserace, yes?”

  “Of course, everyone knows that tale. She came to be a wife to Cruinniuc, but she told him not to brag about her. He did, naturally, saying she could outrace the chief’s horses. The chief made her prove it, despite being nine moons’ pregnant, and she did.”

  He leaned in closer to her, eyes intent. “What if she had magic like yours? What if she hadn’t really been pregnant, but just made the illusion of pregnancy?”

  She waved off the idea. “But she gave birth to twins directly after the race! That couldn’t be an illusion.”

  “It might all have been a magical illusion, a Faerie glamor. Surely she couldn’t have been a natural human?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose it might have been. I don’t think anyone believes her to be human. A goddess, perhaps. Fae, certainly. But human? Never.”

  He took both her hands in his. “But you are human, Étaín? Or are you a goddess, sent to confuse me?”

  She laughed, suddenly nervous. “I’m as human as you are, Odhar, at least as far as I know.”

  The silence grew between them, and she became perfectly aware he still held her hands in his. They were warm and dry, but still, the skin burned where they touched. She fought the urge to caress them. Her cheeks grew warm as he stared at her.

  Nothing had changed in the time they’d been apart, despite having switched apparent ages. Their souls still joined through their eyes, despite herself.

  With great reluctance, she extracted her hands from his and clasped them in her lap, staring at them to avoid looking at him again. The desire and intrigue she’d glimpsed in his eyes were too tempting, too demanding, for her to risk that. She needed to escape.

  Étaín’s eyes darted to the door as she heard someone walk by outside. He followed her gaze and let out a short bark of laughter. “I will never trap you here, Étaín. You should know that of me by now. You may leave whenever you like. Is my company so concerning you wish to leave?”

  His voice had turned from wry amusement to entreating and sweet. She risked a glance and decided puppy dogs would be envious of his eyes at this moment.

  “I am not afraid of you, Odhar. Truly, I’m not. I’m afraid of what… what we might do together.”

  He took her hands again. “I thought I lost you once, and it’s eaten into my soul ever since. Almost twenty winters I have wondered what would have happened if you’d waited for me that night. Whatever you want or whatever you don’t want, Étaín. I am yours to command. If you tell me to wander the land in search of you for the rest of my life, I shall do that. It will be as you wish. If you tell me to go jump off the highest sea cliff in Hibernia, I shall do that.”

  His eyes were dark brown pools of eager love, and she had to smile at his ingenuous offer. She could no longer class Odhar as a young pup, madly in love with his first maiden. He aged almost forty-five winters himself at this point. Then again, perhaps he’d never experienced carnal love before in his life. He’d been a monk almost as soon as he’d been a man. Sequestered and cloistered for much of that, he wouldn’t have had much opportunity for such pursuits.

  She shook her head and withdrew her hands. She paced several times around the small roundhouse. “Odhar, you know such a thing is impossible. You are and always have been, vowed to the church. Aren’t monks required to be celibate now, even in Hibernia? Perhaps fifty winters ago, or a hundred, it would have been acceptable, but now… and in both Gaelic and Canon law, I am still married to Airtre. Men can have multiple wives, but it is rare indeed for a woman to have more than one husband, even in ancient times.”

  He remained seated, staring down at his own hands. “I could only ever offer you a less than an honorable life. That is true. An offer unworthy of you.”

  She snorted at that. “Odhar, think about what you said. Use the logic I know you possess. I’ve lived over one hundred and fifty winters. Every thirty winters or so, I’ve had to disappear and start a new life. Usually, my husband at the time still lived. I have been guilty of living in sin, as the Church sees it, more times than I can count. Most of my marriages have been illegal per that law, whenever my former husband still lived. So don’t think such things unworthy of me.”

  He collected both mugs, busying himself at the water basin. “Étaín, think on our situation for a while. Consider your feelings, your needs, and your future. I know about your magic, so you needn’t escape in the middle of the night when you are getting too old. I can help you start your new life when I more resemble your grandfather than your lover. If this might appeal to you, come back, and we will make plans. If not, I will help you with whatever you prefer.”

  He didn’t turn to look at her. She didn’t know if he wanted her to leave, if he’d become angry, or if he simply didn’t care. Perhaps he cared too much. Her own emotions were clashing together like a storm-swept shore, full of contradictions, hopes, and fears.

  Étaín grabbed her cloak and left without saying another word.

  * * *

  That night, Étaín dreamed.

  Normally, her dreams were full of past lives and people long dead. This time, however, she had an almost life-like dream of Maelan. He’d grown and practiced martial craft with a troupe of other warriors. He’d grown strong, powerful, with a barrel chest and a pale, thick beard. Her adult grandson dripped with sweat as he sparred with younger men, stopping now and then to instruct them on technique, stance, or speed.

  Maelan looked so much like her long-dead son, it broke her heart.

  He left the training ground and walked to a simple roundhouse on the edge of the hillfort. It looked like a domestic structure, and when he walked in, Étaín noted a large cot, a set of shelves, and other personal comforts. The roundhouse looked pleasantly appointed, but not luxurious.

  “Liadan? What are you doing?”

  His voice startled Étaín. Normal
ly her dreams did not speak, and Maelan’s voice sounded unexpectedly deep. She had a hard time reconciling the piping squeak of the child he had been with this man’s mature voice.

  “Just repairing your green léine. I swear you are harder on clothing than any man I’ve ever known, including my own brothers. What do you do when you’re out on campaign, rub your back against a tree? The next time, I’ve half a mind to make you do the repairs yourself.”

  He laughed. “I have no skill at needlework, Liadan.”

  “Then you must be resigned to dressing in rags.”

  Étaín smiled at the banter. She already liked Maelan’s wife, for surely that’s who this woman must be.

  The scene swirled, and she no longer saw Maelan and his wife, but an old man with a long white beard. She gasped as she recognized Adhna’s aged face.

  “You see, Étaín. He is ready now. You must pass on your magic. Soon he will grow too old to understand it, to embrace it.”

  His lips didn’t move, but his voice surrounded her mind, penetrating her thoughts. She didn’t escape the missive, but she shook her head, trying to change her vision.

  “I can’t, Adhna! I’ll age and die, and he’s so young!”

  The older Fae’s face frowned, and his eyes grew sterner than she’d ever seen them, dark and glowering against a stormy sky. “Do not argue with me, Étaín! You know it must be done, and it must be done now.”

  She tried to push the vision away, but his form grew insubstantial. Her arms fluttered ineffectively until they looked like the wings of a bird. She flapped her new wings, trying to shake them back into human arms.

  Now she drifted up, above the land, seeing the world as a soaring bird. The caw of a raven echoed across the sky, and that’s when the wind hit.

  Soon she drifted on a maelstrom of regret and pain. Airtre laughed at her as he beat her over and over, each blow turning her into an eddy on a churning river. Maelan and Odhar stood on the shore, urging her to grab the flimsy branch they held. Every time she grasped for the branch, it sliced through her hand, leaving the blood to swirl back into the freezing water. Now Bressel laughed as well, and the madman beggar who assaulted her. Síne’s malicious voice joined theirs in a chorus of mockery, and soon her vision filled with a ring of taunting faces, blocking her vision of the safety of the sky above. Their laughter melded into that of the insane Fae, swirling around her, making her twist and spin in a futile attempt to escape the onslaught of deafening madness.