Caledonia Fae 05 - Elder Druid

by India Drummond

  The steward bowed and rushed to follow the prince’s orders. Griogair sat where Eilidh so often worked, feeling out of place and praying he’d never have the opportunity to grow accustomed to the position. Drawing some official papers out of a nearby cabinet, he filled one of the pages, his heart heavy.

  Oron arrived first. He entered and bowed. “I’m afraid I have no news to report yet, Your Highness. I’ve only just begun my work with Maiya.”

  Griogair signed his name, then handed the page to the joint-conclave leader. The elder accepted it, his eyes scanning the script. “Treason?” he muttered. “I wish I was surprised. You have evidence?”

  “The testimony of Queen Konstanze of Ashkyne. Koen tried to curry favour with her by telling her of Eilidh’s condition and Caledonia’s weakened state.”

  Oron tilted his head. “As Eilidh’s trustee, you are acting within your rights, of course. I wonder if anyone might suspect you were getting rid of a rival.”

  “No one who’s ever met Koen would believe that,” Griogair said with a snort.

  “You intend to execute him?”

  “No,” Griogair said. “Only to keep him somewhere he can’t do any harm.”

  Oron nodded and added his mark on the bottom of the page next to Griogair’s.

  The wen-lei arrived and saluted the prince. “How may I serve?” he asked. Griogair handed him the arrest warrant, impressed the Watcher showed no reaction when he read the name inscribed on it.

  “Take him to Eirlioc Falls with enough guards to isolate him from the flows of magic. He may move freely in the castle, but he is to be guarded at all times and receive no visitors nor send any communication. If he gives you any trouble or tries to leave the grounds, restrict him to his suite.”

  The wen-lei saluted. “As you command,” he said and folded the page before placing it in an inside pocket. He saluted again and left without delay.

  “You will be forced to make a ruling eventually,” Oron warned. “Treason is not to be considered lightly.”

  “I plan to leave him to Eilidh to deal with when she is well. As long as she lives, he is under the protection of her bloodline. Should she die, his fate will be in Maiya’s hands.”

  “If the queen does recover enough to confront his treachery,” Oron said, “I suspect Koen will regret his actions more than if you simply commanded his death.”

  ∞

  Barely an hour before sunset, Aaron held one of Joy’s hands. Jago held the other as they approached the portal, Cen trailing behind. Earlier that evening, Aaron had conveyed Griogair’s request for Jago’s help reaching Maiya. Lisle asked Aaron and Joy to look after the boy while she discussed the situation with the prince. The kid was a handful, but Joy seemed to enjoy his exuberance and perpetual questioning.

  Aaron was lost in his own thoughts. At least his meeting with Griogair had gone better than his discussion with Tràth. He still felt like a right tosser for ordering the prince around and hoped things would turn out all right with Douglas. In that case, Tràth might forgive Aaron’s high-handedness.

  When they arrived at the immense courtyard, they stood back and watched as several of the Mistwatchers used their air flows to guide a cart full of Douglas’ belongings through the glow of the portal. With an almost imperceptible buzz, they vanished on the other side.

  Joy released Aaron and Jago’s hands and tugged on Cen’s sleeve. Gesturing to the portal, she signed something to him.

  Cen frowned, looking confused, and replied in the fae tongue.

  “What’s wrong?” Aaron asked.

  “Lady Joy asks what the portal is.”

  “What it is?” Aaron asked. “Maybe she means what it looks like?”

  Cen translated the question.

  Joy shook her head, flicking the same signs she had before.

  With remarkable patience, Cen continued to talk to her, asking questions. By his hand gestures, he appeared to be discussing the functioning of the portal with her. Aaron sensed her frustration, but he didn’t know how to help, since he spoke neither the fae tongue nor understood her sign language.

  Turning toward the Druid Hall, he squinted, trying to make out the figures approaching over the bridge. Tràth was following Douglas, both men looking infinitely more happy than they had when he’d spoken to them earlier in the day.

  Relief washed over Aaron. They turned up another bridge and disappeared into the entrance to the Caledonian Hall. Only half listening to Cen chattering to Joy, Aaron glanced down to see Jago copying her signs. Every once in a while, Cen would mimic a sign with a slight variation, silently correcting the boy’s form. Aaron considered what might have happened if Cen had declined to come to the Halls of Mist. The faerie had proved indispensable. Aaron said distantly, “Lady Joy is annoyed.” He glanced toward Cen.

  “Yes, my lord druid,” Cen said grimly. “I understood that much.”

  Aaron chuckled. He wondered if he’d ever get used to knowing how another person felt.

  Joy’s scowl was fierce, but to her credit, she continued signing both her own words and Cen’s, teaching him more of her language as they went.

  “What’s she on about?” Aaron asked.

  “She keeps asking what the portal is, and I don’t understand the question. The portal is…a portal. I described what I am aware of about how it works and how we travel from kingdoms to the Hall, but I’m no expert. Still, none of that seems to answer her question. She keeps doing the signs for air, water, earth, and fire.”

  Aaron tilted his head and considered. “Ask her why she wants to know.”

  When she signed again, Cen’s expression was as frustrated as hers. He threw his hands up. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he said.

  “What?” Aaron asked.

  “The structure of Zalian sign language is odd, mind you,” Cen said. “The gist of her words is I stomach.”

  “Is she hungry?” Aaron asked. “Or does she feel ill?”

  Cen shook his head. “Those words are signed like this,” he said and illustrated. “She means something else.”

  Joy gestured toward Aaron, then made a sign.

  “She asks in which sphere you work.”

  “Water,” Aaron said.

  Then she pointed to Cen with the same query.

  “Fire,” Cen told her, then translated for Aaron.

  Joy turned to Jago and repeated the signs. Aaron answered, “Blood.”

  “Earth too,” Jago insisted. “I’m weak, but Maiya says I’ll get better as I grow up.”

  Aaron stared for a moment, but decided not to argue that a one-year-old couldn’t teach someone earth flows.

  When Joy heard the translation for blood, she reflexively touched her forehead. After a pause, she signed a question.

  “She’s saying more.”

  “Demi is also blood, as is Lisle. Douglas and Rory use water. Munro shaped stone,” Aaron said. “Huck uses fire.”

  She indicated the brand on her face. Forbidden.

  “Fire isn’t forbidden,” Aaron said.

  Jago piped up. “I think she means azuri,” he said.

  “We don’t have any more azuri druids besides the three of blood, but as far as faeries we know well, Queen Eilidh, like most azuris, is astral. Prince Tràth is a temporal faerie.”

  “I’m only half druid,” Jago interjected.

  Joy put her fist to her stomach again, practically stamping her feet with impatience.

  Aaron gave up. He had no idea what she wanted. “The only other sphere is spirit.”

  After Cen translated, Joy signed, “Yes!”

  Aaron shook his head. “There aren’t any spirit fae anymore.”

  Joy reached over and playfully grabbed his chin and made him look at her. Again she touched her chest, which Cen said meant herself, then put her fist to her stomach.

  “You’re a spirit faerie?”

  She planted a jubilant kiss on his lips, then signed, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  “Jesus Christ,” Aaron s
aid. A spirit faerie.

  Cen raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know how to translate that.”

  Aaron chuckled. “Faith is close enough.”

  A noise came from the Caledonian bridge. He glanced over to see Tràth, Douglas, and a dozen others following them. Although Tràth and Douglas weren’t touching, the intimate atmosphere between them was unmistakable. Aaron walked over and extended a hand to Douglas. When Douglas took it, Aaron leaned over and whispered, “Get a room.”

  Douglas burst out laughing. “We will. Don’t you worry.”

  Tràth bowed to Aaron. “My lord druid,” he said, his tone stiff.

  With a roll of his eyes, Douglas said, “Don’t worry, mate. He’ll get over it.”

  The three men watched as Tràth’s entourage proceeded toward the blue orb and passed through.

  “Where’s all your stuff?” Aaron asked Tràth. “I thought you’d be shifting a hundred carts full of crap.”

  Tràth tilted his head. “Some was moved earlier today, but most will be transported over the coming weeks. It takes time to move an entire household.”

  Aaron did his best to smile, despite the chill in Tràth’s humourless reply.

  With a clap on Aaron’s back, Douglas walked him toward the portal, away from the others. “Don’t let his attitude bother you,” he said, his voice low. “He really will get over it. Eventually.” He switched tacks. “By the way, I can’t do much with those notes you brought me. The one you called the anchor stone was interesting. I’ll do my best to find the real thing when we arrive. The way you transcribed the runes, it read as jailers instead of Keepers.” He rolled his eyes. “Your runework is shite.”

  Aaron winced. “That bad? Well, I knew I needed help. It’s an odd piece. Felt old, but like you say, I’m useless with runes outside my sphere.” He paused and spoke quietly. “How are you holding up? Is the voice still bothering you?”

  “I hear whispers, but since Tràth restored our bond, I can ignore them more easily. To me, this confirms whoever is doing this wanted me away from him.”

  “You think it’s a who, not a what?”

  “Not a bloody clue,” Douglas said. “I will be glad to be away from here, though.”

  Aaron nodded. “Could this have anything to do with what happened to Munro?”

  “Difficult to say. The obsession with the Stone started before he died,” Douglas said with a glance up at the glowing blue orb. “The problem did intensify afterwards. Before then, I didn’t see any harm in wanting to feed the Stone all the time. I enjoyed my work, felt like I was doing something important.” Without warning, Douglas clenched his chest in pain.

  “What’s wrong?” Aaron asked.

  “It’s started again. Bloody hell,” he said.

  “Worse?” Aaron frowned.

  “Much,” Douglas replied, his voice barely audible.

  Tràth approached, rushing to support Douglas. “What happened?”

  “You two should go. Now.” He glanced at Tràth. “You can help him through?”

  “Of course,” Tràth said coldly, but tempered his words with a softer, “but thank you.”

  “Go,” Aaron said and watched as the other two rushed through. He didn’t realise until they’d been gone a few seconds he’d been holding his breath. But no big black hand swept out of the portal. Douglas was safe.

  Exhaling with relief, Aaron turned back to Joy, Cen, and Jago. “Portal,” Joy signed urgently, then put her fist to her stomach indicating spirit.

  “The portal is spirit?” Aaron frowned.

  She shook her head fiercely. “Inside,” she signed.

  Aaron stopped cold. “The portal has a spirit? It’s alive?”

  She tilted her head uncertainly. “Two but one. Broken,” she signed.

  Aaron waited for Cen to give him more of the translation, but the interpreter appeared equally confused. “The portal is broken?” Aaron asked.

  With a sharp shake of her head, she signed, “The spirit is torn.”

  Aaron. A voice beckoned.

  He froze, unable to move. The sound grated like a horrible screech, at precisely the right tone to send a shudder through his body.

  “My lord druid?” Cen stepped toward him. “You look pale. Is something wrong?”

  “The spirit calls,” Joy signed.

  “You hear it?” Aaron asked her.

  She indicated her ruined eyes. “I see.”

  Aaron stared, unable to process what she meant. “Cen, will you take Lady Joy and Jago to meet his grandmother at the Caledonian Hall?”

  “Of course,” Cen said and bowed.

  Joy seemed reluctant to leave him. “Without you?” she signed.

  “I need to speak with the Keepers. There’s something wrong with the Source Stone.”

  Aaron. The artefact called again. Aaron backed away from the blue glow, worried and confused. He would have sworn the voice sounded like Munro’s.

  Chapter 20

  After downing another bowl of tonic, Munro followed Ewain back to the Shadow Stone. As directed, Munro placed one hand on the Stone and spoke into the air. “Aaron,” he called. Something warped his voice, making it sound strange to his own ears. He continued trying, but he neither heard nor sensed any kind of response.

  “Your spirit powers are pathetic,” Ewain muttered, then added, “Move your hands away when you aren’t using the Stone so you don’t drain your energy.”

  “I’m a stone druid,” Munro said.

  “Your one-year-old daughter understands more about bonding than you do,” the elder druid spat. “As your faerie gained power of incantation for the opposite sphere, you should have taken not only her power, but acquired the ability to create in the opposite sphere, with your weak element reflecting your strongest contrary talent. Stone opposes spirit.” He sighed. “Pathetic.”

  Nothing Ewain said made sense to Munro. He didn’t even understand what a contrary talent was. “How do you know so much about my life, my family, and the druids’ work?”

  Ewain waved his hand, dismissing the question. “I would stir the shadows and you could see for yourself if I had my full strength, but I do not. Reach for Aaron as before,” he said tersely.

  Munro put his hands on the Shadow Stone once more and called Aaron. Again, Munro felt nothing. Ewain spun away in exasperation, stalking to the back of the room.

  “Why are we bothering with Aaron? You said only Douglas’ feedings would help.”

  Ewain spat his frustration. “Douglas and his temporal faerie left the Halls of Mist.”

  This news came as a surprise. “Where did they go?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t see beyond the Halls,” Ewain grumbled. “It doesn’t matter. Aaron will do, perhaps even better than Douglas if I can get him away from that female. Because of her, he’s resisting our calls for help.”

  “Who?” Munro had the feeling he’d missed something.

  “Aaron has bonded,” Ewain said. “On one hand, this makes him useful to us, assuming we can convince him to channel power into the Stone. On the other, their connection is new. He hasn’t tapped in to her abilities at all, unlike Douglas. That one had at least gained a small measure of Tràth’s temporal talent, enough to give me a taste of what I needed.” A thousand questions filled Munro’s mind. Ewain paced back toward Munro. When the elder druid swept closer, however, his face contorted with a rage. “You idiot!” he shouted. “Have you been touching the Stone all this time?”

  Munro pulled his hands away as though the Shadow Stone burned him. “Sorry. I guess so,” he said. “But don’t worry. I don’t feel drained.”

  Ewain appeared to be restraining himself from wrapping his bony hands around Munro’s throat. Once he’d calmed down, his voice grew eerily calm. “Go upstairs,” he said. “Drink three more bowls of tonic, even if you do not feel tired. Return to your stones and inscribe the runes necessary to transport us to the Halls of Mist. I will try to convince Aaron to feed the Source Stone. Perhaps we can use his
bonded faerie to supplement our efforts. If I gain enough power from them, we will activate the portal together. Our worries may soon pass.”

  Munro nodded even though he suspected Ewain just wanted rid of him. What choice did Munro have but to do as instructed? Without Ewain, his soul would depart his dead body, and where would that leave him? “Okay,” he said and rose. “What happens when we return to the Halls of Mist. Will I still be dead?”

  With a level look, Ewain said, “I don’t know.”

  The flatness of the stare made Munro shiver. He hoped, when the time came, the fact that he retained his soul would count for something.

  ∞

  Joy allowed Cen to lead her over the narrow bridge even though she didn’t need the help. The strange mists in this place glowed in her mind’s eye as if they possessed a living spirit. At first, her blindness had left her in complete darkness, a horrible, fearful time. But her spirit flows grew stronger, taking over where her stolen sight had once filled her thoughts.

  She followed the gentle pull of Cen’s hand, his bright aura taking her into a place filled with many other people. When she had been blinded, her spirit senses enhanced her normal ability to see and detect fae magic. Now her mind’s eye danced with colours and light previously undetected. Some of those she saw now possessed dim auras, barely showing her the outline of their bodies. Others had bright bursts of power, but none matching those of the boy Jago.

  Her new life still didn’t seem real. She sometimes felt overwhelmed by the number of people talking to her, asking her questions, showing sincere interest. The terrible days on the streets of Tafgul were too recent for her to relax, but she took strength from her bond with Aaron. His aura, like that of the other druids, was unlike that of the fae. His magical essence had a different texture. Where a faerie might appear as simple light, she could nearly make out the druids’ features because of the depth and complexity of the flows. They were profoundly physical beings, their auras almost completely integrated with the flesh. The lethfae boy seemed to have the best of both worlds. He was a marvel to her.