Caledonia Fae 05 - Elder Druid

by India Drummond

  “An interesting theory,” Konstanze said. Her words remained conservative, but Koen knew he had piqued her interest. “Why did you risk so much to bring me this information?”

  “I made a mistake in throwing my lot in with Caledonia. Had I realised what a nest of scorpions that house concealed, I never would have done so. I had hoped you could provide advice. How can I survive with such a madman on the Caledonian throne?”

  “What do you expect Ashkyne to do?”

  “Whatever you deem wise, Your Majesty. Maybe nothing. Perhaps all you need to do is wait for the Source Stone to name you queen of Caledonia and my former kingdom of Andena too. On the other hand, when you verify my tale, you may arrive at a more proactive plan. I believe you should have been named ruler of both Andena and Caledonia. You may be soon, when the Source Stone recognises the harm done by Prince Griogair. When that happens, I can help you. Although Eilidh claims she tried to assimilate the Andenans into her kingdom, she alienated many, including the elders and former conclave members. They will listen to me, and I will bring them into your service, as they always should have been.”

  A smile twitched across Konstanze’s mouth. “Will you be staying in Ashkyne a while? I offer you the hospitality of my house, naturally.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Koen said, rising. “I should return to the Halls of Mist before my absence is noticed. I can aid you more from within Caledonia. The moment the tide shifts, I will be waiting for your call, I assure you. I am hoping after Eilidh’s death, I will find a place in Ashkyne, should you believe me worthy.”

  “I will, as you say, verify your most compelling tale.”

  “There is one other piece of information I must share. Consider this: did you know Griogair has sent his son to court the Zalian heir? It appears he wishes to expand his reach beyond the two kingdoms he already plots to control.”

  “I heard Prince Tràth was negotiating a trade treaty with Zalia. There is more to his visit?” she asked with a frown.

  “Oh yes, Your Majesty. I heard Griogair instruct his son how to gain Princess Imena’s confidence by feigning disinterest. The plan worked, too. Her invitation to negotiate a treaty arrived the next night. If I weren’t so repelled by the deception, I would be in awe of Griogair’s expertise at both politics and seduction. Add to that the fact that he sent a disguised astral faerie along on the trade delegation, one who could easily use her talents to manipulate Princess Imena… Well, it isn’t difficult to draw a disturbing conclusion.” He bowed to Konstanze. “Thank you for receiving me. I look forward to hearing from you soon. I fear my days of safety in Caledonia will quickly run out.”

  Konstanze tilted her head. “Give me a little time to contemplate your news, Prince Koen. Speak of this to no one. I will make a decision soon.”

  ∞

  When the elder druid showed Munro what he called the shadow portal, a chill crept over his lifeless skin. “I feel like part of me is still trapped inside,” he said. His mind had grown foggier again, making the sensation even more unpleasant.

  He’d seen something like this black, solid image of the portal before, on the day Eilidh was chosen to rule Andena after Queen Vinye’s death. He told Ewain about the event, and the elder druid nodded. “I remember. I sensed the ripples even here, although I was mostly dormant at the time.”

  “What woke you?” Munro asked, running his hand over the smooth, marble-like surface of the shadow portal.

  “You druids,” he said. “When you began to feed the Stone, a trickle of power seeped through for the first time in centuries. Not enough to allow me much freedom, but it gave me hope.” The furrows in his skin clenched as he grimaced. “Expectation is an emotion I had long since given up.”

  “What is the Shadow Stone you mentioned before?” Munro asked.

  “I will show you later. It resembles the Source Stone in every way other than colour. Like all objects in this realm, the artefact is only a reflection of the real thing, but it is the anchor connecting this place to the Otherworld.”

  “I’d like to see,” Munro said.

  “Soon,” Ewain replied. “We shouldn’t waste time. We must begin to construct a new gate to transport us to the Halls of Mist.”

  Munro sighed. “I don’t think I can,” he said. “I didn’t build the Mistgate alone. I can shape the stone and even write the runes, but my power wouldn’t be enough. Every one of the other druids, bar the children, contributed their essence.”

  “Then build the gate’s structure. It need only be large enough to fit our bodies through. We will at least do that much before we give up. I have more knowledge in this weakened state than you have ever dreamed of. As long as Douglas feeds the Stone, I will grow stronger. I may need months to gain the necessary power from his feedings, but time is a small price to pay. Still, we mustn’t delay. The trees grow thinner in the Shadow Wood. In another year, they may become depleted. With two souls to bind, our resources will run out more quickly.”

  Months? Munro was already losing track of time and his memories. He couldn’t fathom years, decades, century after century in this place like Ewain had already endured. He needed to return to the Otherworld before he forgot his life completely.

  Ewain led him to a clearing and indicated a likely spot. Munro dug into the earth with a blackened branch while the elder druid returned to his house for more of the silvery tonic. Ewain was gone quite a while. Long before he returned, Munro hit stone. His lifeless body didn’t experience fatigue, but his mind did drift. Sometimes he found himself waist-deep in earth, leaning against the mud bank he’d created, his thoughts cold and blank. I don’t like death, he thought and worked to uncover the stone again.

  When Ewain reappeared, Munro noticed something different about him. Still bent and worn as a rotting trunk, Ewain had the tiniest tinge of a glow. “Did you bring tonic?” Munro asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “I had to fashion some containers. I couldn’t carry open bowls this far.”

  He handed Munro a hollow gourd with the narrow top sliced off. “Thank you,” he said. He drank without hesitation this time, looking forward to the sharpness returning to his mind. “Don’t you need some?” he asked.

  “I drank some at the house. Besides, you’re doing the heavy work. Your body will require more than mine.”

  Munro nodded and went back to clearing off the stone at the bottom of the ditch. He’d only reached one stone. Twice the size of a loaf of bread, it took effort to raise. Ewain did not offer to help, but he watched eagerly.

  Straining to control his uncoordinated muscles, Munro managed to heave the rock to the surface. He lifted himself up to sit on the side of the ditch, longing to lie down.

  “No!” Ewain said sharply. “You mustn’t sleep.”

  “I’m tired,” Munro said.

  “You aren’t tired. You’re dead. Don’t let yourself be lured by the comfort of rest. There is no solace in sleep, only finality.”

  Munro nodded wearily. “I’ll need perhaps three more rocks this size,” he said, running his hand over the surface of the stone. It didn’t respond the way Otherworld rock did, or even earth of the human realm. Like him, the stone felt as dead as he was.

  “Why? Can you not shape it? The stone circle doesn’t need to be thick or even complete.”

  Stone circles, Munro thought with a start. “Are you saying standing stones in the human realm are gateways?”

  Ewain held still with a completeness only the dead could achieve. A long time passed before he spoke. “Can you work with the amount of stone you have? We shouldn’t waste any energy not required.”

  “I’ll try,” Munro said. He believed Ewain was holding something back, but Munro had no clue where to start. “You said we modern druids understand nothing. Maybe you can teach me.”

  “In this place? Unlikely. I barely have the power to stay moving. If not for the life-spirit of the trees, even that would be impossible.”

  Munro brushed the blackened mud away from the
surface of the stone. “We may as well talk while I try to shape the rock. Conversation will help keep me awake.”

  Ewain tilted his head. “If it will prevent you from drifting.”

  “You said we modern druids don’t know anything about bonding. What are we missing?”

  “The answer will not matter to you. Your bond with Queen Eilidh broke upon your death.”

  Munro frowned. Did the ancient druid know everything about his life? Munro was starting to worry this was a strange dream from which he might never wake, and Ewain a figment of his imagination. How else could he know details about Munro’s wife, family, and friends? “If that’s true, when I return, we will bond again.” Admittedly, it was strange to not have Eilidh’s thoughts within him, but death had changed so much.

  “Perhaps,” Ewain said. “Bonding magic is strong. Breaking it does something to a person. Having it destroyed by force is even worse.” The elder druid shuddered, and a small groan escaped his lips as with remembered pain.

  “The first twelve draoidh created the bonding ritual?” Munro asked.

  “Certainly not,” Ewain said. “As though those idiots could imbue such a powerful enchantment into the blood of our creatures.”

  “You created it alone?”

  Ewain’s lips curled into a flicker of a smile. “I did have some help. Juno was our mistress of blood rites. Without her, I could not have made the trait genetic.”

  “What does bonding actually do?” Munro tried to shape the stone, but the dense material resisted him. He worried it might crack, so he tried easing into the flows. He felt a distant tremor of a response. He feared he would need a week just to manipulate the magic to do anything practical.

  “The ritual tied our creatures to us, and us to them, much as you experience now, although I find it fascinating how you have allowed the roles to be reversed.”

  “In what way?” Munro asked.

  “Take your Queen Eilidh. Through your bond, she gained a capacity for all four flows of the Ways of Earth. What have you gained?”

  Munro looked up. “I have changed physically. I will live longer, can run faster, see better.”

  Ewain shook his head. “Most of what you describe has come from contact with the Otherworld and enchantments in various kingdom anchors. Besides feeling her presence and knowing her emotions, what have you gained?”

  “The magic doesn’t work that way,” Munro said with a frown. He’d stopped concentrating on the stone, but a scowl from Ewain set him to working again.

  “Truly, it is not your fault. The fae have lived with the flows since birth, while you grew up in the human realm. They know how to take, how to sense, how to grow. You only react.”

  “Are you saying I could gain more powers from the bond?”

  “Do you really believe we would create a type of magic that would make our creatures more powerful than we were?” Ewain chuckled, his mouth an unkind sneer. “I have watched you. The Druid Hall should be the seat of emperors. They should kiss your feet, as they did mine. In all honesty, I’m astonished they haven’t killed you yet.”

  For the first time since he died, anger burned in Munro’s lifeless gut. “Were you this unpleasant when you were alive, or have thousands of years of death marred your charming personality?”

  Ewain tilted his head. “Perhaps you should rest after all. I’m going to the Shadow Stone. I will return and wake you when I’ve finished what I need to do.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Munro said. “I want to visit the Shadow Stone.”

  “No,” the elder druid said. “I’m tiring of your company. I have lived alone a long time, and I need a few hours of solitude.”

  Without another word, Ewain stalked into the blackness of the bleak woods.

  Chapter 16

  Tràth rose an hour before dusk. In the strange silence filling his mind since he shut the barrier to the time stream, he’d done nothing but think. Petroc arranged for meals to be brought to his chamber, but Tràth had eaten little.

  The setting sun cast orange rays in the cloudless sky, and the prince stared out the large window.

  Petroc came in, his feet making almost no sound on the soft tapestry covering the bed chamber floor. “You’re up early,” he said.

  “I’m leaving soon. Tonight, if possible,” Tràth said, turning to his attendant.

  “Of course, Your Highness,” Petroc said. “I’ve been preparing for our departure since Lord Druid Aaron left.”

  “No, I want you to stay behind.”

  Petroc froze for an instant, then nodded, but his expression betrayed his confusion. “What do you need me to do?”

  “I’ve made my decision. I will become Imena’s prince-consort. I plan to request my own palace, but I think she will agree to such a trivial demand. I need someone I trust running my household. If you are willing, I intend to name you head steward. While I’m at the Halls of Mist, I will have the Caledonian house shut down. Any staff you wish to retain will be employed for me here. We should take on enough Zalians to make up at least half the staff, so my home doesn’t seem like foreign soil when my mate graces us with her company. I specifically want a Zalian to be my personal attendant and likewise all protocol officers and scribes should be of this kingdom. I would like to retain the head cook from Caledonia. The food here is too rich for my taste. Too many heavy meats and sweet breads.”

  “I’m honoured to accept such an important position of trust, Your Highness,” Petroc said with a bow. “I’ll prepare a list of who would be suited from your Caledonian staff to make the transition. I confess I’m surprised you intend to accept the princess’ offer, considering Zalia’s laws regarding the azuri.”

  “Facilitating an alliance with one of the richest kingdoms in the Otherworld is the best way I might serve Caledonia. At the same time, the princess is right. I can affect change here in a way not necessary at home.” Tràth removed his lounging robe. “I need formal attire for this evening.”

  Petroc nodded and accepted the robe. “I’d suggest the gold brocade jacket with the red under-tunic. I’ve always found the combination garish, but Zalians seem to appreciate a showy display.” Petroc departed and returned a few moments later with the proposed ensemble. The outfit looked more ceremonial than Trath would normally choose, but he wanted to indicate the importance of the occasion.

  “What of the Watchers and Alyssa? Will they return with you?” Petroc asked as he dressed Tràth.

  “Yes. The princess will no doubt appoint a Zalian honour guard for me once the contract is approved. As far as Alyssa…” Tràth paused to consider. “I’ll ask her if she wishes to stay, but I cannot press her. She serves at Queen Eilidh’s pleasure and is granddaughter of one of Caledonia’s conclave elders. I believe she intends to become a Watcher. No doubt as soon as I release her, she’ll return to pursue her training in Caledonia.”

  A knock sounded at the door as Petroc fastened the straps on Tràth’s shoes. The attendant went to answer it, and he returned a few moments later. “You are invited to take the first evening meal with Princess Imena, Your Highness.”

  Tràth nodded. “Respond that I will come at once.” When Petroc went to fulfil the command, Tràth regarded his reflection in the mirror. He had aged a century in the past day and scarcely recognised his own expression, so he turned away.

  Half an hour later, a steward led him to a small, private dining room arranged to accommodate two. He was surprised to find Imena seated inside when he arrived. Crossing the distance between them, he watched her eyes, gauging her guarded expression. With a formal bow, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Good evening, Imena,” he said.

  She touched her face, her eyes widening with surprise. Unlike Tràth, she had dressed in a much more subdued fashion, a simple black dress that draped to the floor. Her face was painted, as always, but instead of gems, her skin was decorated with glistening black stones. “Good evening, Tràth,” she said.

  “I’d hoped we could talk before we dine,
” he said. “It would be a shame to spoil a meal with serious topics.”

  A wrinkle appeared between her eyes as she frowned. “Of course. Shall we sit?” He nodded, so she led him to a side room where two plush lounging chairs were positioned in front of a fire. “I hope these serious topics you wish to discuss are not unhappy ones.”

  He sat across from her, but did not recline. Despite the sense of calm that had been on him over the last day and a half, he still felt burdened. “I wish to sign the trade agreement, assuming you are still amenable to the terms.”

  She tilted her head. “I am,” she said. “As is my mother. Although I can accept on behalf of Zalia, I did discuss the situation with her.” She watched him closely. “I still hope you might become my mate, but I will not tie the trade agreement with your acceptance. The agreement was equitable and fair, and I believe I was wrong to put you in such a position. I should have first revealed the whole truth of the Zalian kingdom’s…traditions where the azuri people are concerned and the difficulties we would both face.”

  Despite the fact that the trade agreement played only some part in his decision, he appreciated her change of heart. “I am prepared to negotiate my acceptance of your offer.”

  She raised her eyebrows and smiled with relief. “I’m pleased to hear that, Tràth. I can’t tell you how much. I believe we can accomplish great things for Zalia together. You have terms?”

  He nodded. “I would like to bring some of my own staff here and establish a house in Tafgul. I require at least three scribes, and I wish to invite the Keepers to send one of their scholars to aid me. They are eager to explore the Zalian archives anyway, so hosting one of their number will benefit many.”

  “Why your own house?” she asked.

  “I have research I wish to undertake in addition to the work we will do together. I intend to begin formal study and documentation of temporal magic. For the scope of what I hope to do, I need to be able to command those around me without worrying about stepping on your toes.”