Without taking further notice of Aaron, Ewain moved as though floating, carrying Joy to Munro. He put her down beside the fallen druid, then whispered to her. She nodded once before placing her mouth over Munro’s. Ewain stood back, watching, a curious expression on his face.
“What is she doing?” Aaron asked. No one else in the courtyard dared speak.
Ewain didn’t answer. Instead he gazed up at the stars. “They broke the Otherworld to imprison me. When you drained the Stone, you righted the wrong they did. The healing has begun.”
“Healing? You killed Keeper Oszlár!” Aaron shouted.
Munro coughed, and Ewain and Aaron looked down to see Joy sitting with her hand on Munro’s face. Aaron approached them, but Ewain halted him with a dark, skeletal hand on his shoulder.
“I have kept my word,” Ewain said.
“You what?” Aaron stared at the elder druid.
“Tell him I kept my word.”
Aaron nodded uncertainly. “I assume he’ll know what you mean by that.”
Ewain ignored the comment. “Give me your stylus.”
Aaron felt many emotions: shock, curiosity, relief that Munro was alive, but still no fear. He retrieved his stylus from his pocket, his instant obedience surprising him. Ewain accepted the tool with a polite bow before removing a long, rune-covered tube that hung with many other artefacts around his neck. He handed it to Aaron. “For Munro,” Glancing down, he said, “The dead never forget.”
When he swept away in a black cloud, he went to the far side, near where the bridge to the Druid Hall had once stood. With a glance at Prince Griogair, Ewain whispered an incantation and gestured to the chasm in front of them. The air shimmered, creating a barely visible path. The Druid Hall was further away than before, higher and nestled in the side of a mountain. Aaron wondered if those inside had survived the upheaval.
Ewain transformed completely to smoke, his body translucent, wisps of his essence moving in the winter wind as he travelled over the bridge of air to the Druid Hall. It disappeared as effortlessly as it had been created. Once Ewain was gone, Griogair approached Munro and knelt beside him. The prince touched Joy’s arm and said something in the fae tongue. She nodded once.
As others in the courtyard began to move and check on one another, Aaron looked to Munro. He was alive but appeared weak and pale. “Are you all right?” Aaron asked.
Munro struggled to sit up, and Joy helped him steady himself. “I’ve been dead,” Munro said. “I’m not sure where that fits in the realm of all right.”
“This is Joy,” Aaron told him, indicating his bonded faerie.
Munro cracked a smile. “We’ve met. Help me up, would you?” He glanced at the sky, seeming to notice the stars for the first time. “We’re in the Halls of Mist?”
“Yes,” Aaron said. “I’m not sure what happened. Ewain said when his prison was built, the Otherworld was broken, but now it’s been restored. The Source Stone is nearly dead. I had to drain it to release Joy. She was trapped inside the portal.”
Munro looked around, seeming to take the news with mellow acceptance. “Where did Ewain go?”
“The Druid Hall,” Aaron said. “Is he really the Father of the Sky?”
Munro nodded. “Once. He’s been dead a long time.” With a grimace, Munro glanced toward the keepers, who had begun using their air powers to shift some rubble around the library entrance. “I should help,” he said.
“You should rest, brother,” Griogair told him. “Let me take you to your mate and daughter. They’ve been grieving for you, and they need you. We faeries can move more with our flows than you with your muscles.” He put his shoulder under Munro’s arm and supported him. Together they walked to the edge of what was now a sheer cliff on one side of the courtyard. Griogair’s Watchers had begun using earth flows to construct a makeshift bridge.
From near the furthest side-wall, Cen approached. He had a deep gash at his hairline, and thick smears of blood matted his brown hair to the side of his face. Somehow, Joy seemed to detect his approach. She signed to him, and he shook his head. He spoke to her in the fae tongue, then with a nod to Aaron, he said, “I’m fine. A piece of debris must have struck me during the quake.”
Prince Tràth and the two remaining Mistwatchers had already begun constructing a bridge to the Druid Hall. They made impressive progress. Across the chasm, Aaron saw a large group working from the other side, led by Leocort, to meet them in the middle. Lisle approached with her grandson. “Aaron, can you watch Jago while I help the wounded?”
“Of course,” he said, feeling useless. Everyone else seemed to have a job to do. He beckoned the boy over.
“I saw what the man did to take Joy’s scar off her forehead,” the boy said. Cen continued translating for Joy.
“I guess he didn’t like what the rune said,” Aaron replied.
“No,” Jago said. “I mean I saw what he did. He used my blood flows.”
“Did he?” Aaron said. “Maybe he’s a blood druid, like your grandmother.”
Joy shook her head and signed, “His realm is spirit. I am certain.”
Tugging on Joy’s sleeve, Jago urged her to bend down. “He didn’t use his own blood flows. He took mine. I’m a blood faerie too, not just a blood druid. He took my magic like he did Prince Griogair’s to make the bridge of air.”
Confusion passed over Joy’s face. “He manipulated your flows?”
Jago nodded. “Yes, and I saw what he did.” Gently, Jago put his hand on Joy’s neck, his small fingers running over the rope-like scar across her throat.
Crying out in pain, Joy crumpled to her knees. Aaron began to grab the boy but realised she’d cried out.
Tears rolled down Joy’s cheeks, but she made no effort to stop Jago’s work. Strangled gurgles escaped her throat as he continued, and she coughed heavily, once even spitting up blood. When Aaron moved to interfere, she pushed him away.
Aaron knelt beside them. Her pain caused him anguish, but he also felt her surging hope and delight with every squawking noise she produced.
By the time Jago was done, the scar was little more than a pale line. “I can try to fix your eyes, too,” he said and reached up to her again, but Joy took his hands. She seemed uncertain at first, and her vocal tone was exaggerated and unsteady, but she managed to say something in the fae tongue.
Cen looked shocked, but pleased. “She said the pain was immense. She needs to rest before you try anything further.”
“Okay,” Jago said.
Joy kissed the boy’s cheek. In halting English she added, “Thank you.”
Aaron stared.
She said something more in the fae tongue, seeming to grow in confidence with each word.
Cen laughed. “I hadn’t realised Lady Joy had such a sense of humour. She said, ‘Don’t get too excited. It’s the only phrase I know in your tongue.’” He listened as she spoke again, and then added, “And she requests that you stop staring at her.”
Aaron grinned. “Tell her I can’t help myself. She’s beautiful.”
The levity seemed wrong, surrounded as they were by chaos and uncertainty. What would be waiting for them when they returned to the Druid Hall, and who knew how many might have been hurt in the earthquake? He also didn’t know how much longer the Source Stone would last. The portal was broken, the Halls of Mist changed, and the head keeper dead. It might take years to recover and repair the damage. What of those who were killed or injured in the quake that was, at least in part, his fault? And where in the Otherworld were they?
For now, he held on to this one small moment of happiness and hope. He kissed Joy’s hand, then stood. “Come on, Jago. Let’s see if the others need our help.” To Joy he added, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
∞
Fortunately, the Caledonian Hall and the Druid Hall suffered no casualties because of the quake. Not every Hall was as fortunate. The worst hit was the library, which had been at the centre of the upheaval. Some of the keepers a
nd scholars possessed air talents and used them to shield themselves and others from falling debris. Those with fire or water talents found their abilities less practical in the face of the violent tremors. Tràth exercised his time-walking ability, going back to save those who died. While almost impossible to move people or large objects against the time stream, his air talents did protect a few from being crushed. After hours passed, however, the time stream grew more difficult to cross. Although he kept trying for a while, by the middle of the next day, he admitted there was nothing further he could do.
For a few weeks, scouts went out, discovering that the Halls of Mist was located in a remote mountain region bordered by Tvorskane, Ashkyne, and Zalia. The druids had spent the time since the upheaval beginning to construct permanent gates between each kingdom and their halls, but it would take months to finish them all, if not longer. In the meantime, they instituted a rotation at the Mistgate, changing its destination every day, allowing those who wished to come to the Halls of Mist to do so.
For the moment, many faeries were content to travel by road, at least those whose kingdoms were closest. Tràth departed for Zalia soon after the quake to fulfil his promise to Princess Imena. Although Douglas initially stayed behind to help build the gates, Munro convinced him they could spare him for short periods, if he travelled by Mistgate. After what Munro and Eilidh had been through, he swore he would never take the bond for granted again, and he made sure Douglas didn’t either.
Munro sat in a garden at the Caledonian Hall, glancing up when he heard Eilidh’s voice. She entered carrying Maiya, something she did frequently since the disaster. The child wriggled in her mother’s arms, oblivious to Eilidh’s desire to keep her daughter close. Maiya squeaked with delight.
“Hello, sweetheart!” he said and scooped her up. “How’s my girl?”
“She’s just finished her bath,” Eilidh said with a smile. She lowered herself onto one of the lounge chairs. She’d seemed to grow tired more often than before, but Munro tried not to worry and fuss. He too didn’t feel as strong as he had been. And like every kingdom, Caledonia faced many challenges at the moment. More than just the landscape had changed. Despite their efforts to keep certain facts quiet, everyone in the Otherworld seemed to know that the Father of the Sky had returned.
Ewain had gone directly to the Mistgate, using Aaron’s stylus to carve a rune into its control panel, then activating the portal with magic he’d stolen from Oszlár. Only diligent research revealed the meaning of the rune: Danastai, the once-dead kingdom whose gates had led to the forbidden Bleak. No one had travelled to that location since the original draoidh created the shadow realm to imprison the elder druid. Munro could find no clues to where it had been before the draoidh cleaved the Otherworld into many pieces.
“You look worried,” Eilidh said.
“I am. I expected Huck and Demi back by now. At first I hoped they were merely enjoying spending time with his family, but it’s been too long.”
Eilidh nodded. “You’ve had no word at all?”
“No,” Munro said. “Someone’s going to have to go look for them.” He didn’t want to say it would likely be him. Eilidh had enough to worry about.
She frowned. “You will be careful, won’t you? You have been working so hard. You seem tired and drained.”
He kissed Maiya’s cheek and smiled at Eilidh. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything that might mean losing you two again. Once was more than enough. But we do need to make sure they’re okay. For all we know, Huck is simply showing her the sights.”
She didn’t seem reassured, but she tilted her head in acknowledgement. He knew how much it cost her to hold her tongue, but she understood his duty.
He decided to change the subject. “Have you determined what you’re going to do about Koen?”
With a grimace, Eilidh shook her head. “I’ll have to speak to the conclave.”
“What are your options?” Munro asked.
“Treason is punishable by death. The other option is exile, but I have no desire to unleash him on the human realm, and I doubt another kingdom would take him.”
“You don’t want to execute him, do you?”
“I’ve never liked Koen, but I offered him the protection of my bloodline.”
“He tried to sell you out, Eilidh. He would have been happy to see us both dead. Griogair even said Koen’s actions could have threatened Maiya’s safety.”
“I know,” Eilidh said, a little sharply, then softened her tone. “The choice will not be an easy one, and I will not make it alone.”
Munro nodded, sorry that he’d brought up Koen’s betrayal. Even though she’d done nothing to deserve it, Eilidh had taken the news quite personally. Munro shifted the topic once more. “I can’t help but wonder how long it’s going to be before we hear from Ewain again.” He fingered Ewain’s strange gift, which he had taken to wearing around his neck. The druids tried to decipher the runes, but something about the ancient marks stymied them. Munro understood individual sigils in isolation, but when viewed together, their meanings blurred.
She nodded. “As if the fact that every kingdom shares borders with others wasn’t enough to unsettle us. Much of Caledonia’s new borders are of the sea and some of our lands have become large islands. Our entire balance of life changed in an instant, and the Father of the Sky is like a spectre hanging over our heads.” She didn’t like saying his name.
Before, the only connection between kingdoms was the portal at the Halls of Mist. No one worried about invasions. Now kingdoms had borders thousands of miles long and neighbours with whom they shared shaky relationships.
She tilted her head, watching him. “You’re so pensive since…” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.
“Since I came back from the dead?” Munro chuckled. “You can say it.”
She shuddered. “I can’t bear thinking that way. I lost part of my soul when I lost you. If Joy hadn’t nurtured our bond while she herself was trapped and dying, we might never have recovered.”
“I know,” Munro said. Aaron’s bonded faerie had saved more than anyone realised.
“Why do you so often return to the shadow realm in your thoughts?”
Munro kissed Maiya’s cheek once more. He nodded to her nurse. “Would you take the princess, please?”
The faerie bowed and took the child from his arms. Despite her protests, Munro let her go. He needed to tell Eilidh what happened. Immediately after he’d returned, he was worried for her, and the Halls had been in chaos. The right time never came. But soon she would leave for Caledonia. He couldn’t stall anymore.
He started slowly, describing the shadow realm and his conversations with Ewain. He avoided too much detail about his state, but their bond told him she understood all too well. “Ewain talked about the bonding process, and said I hadn’t taken from your essence the way you did from me. He was so powerful. I didn’t appreciate the magnitude of his abilities until we’d returned.” Munro still didn’t understand how Ewain manipulated the magic of nearby faeries.
“What do I need to do?” Eilidh asked, moving to sit next to him. “You are my life, Quinton. I don’t withhold my magic intentionally.”
“I don’t know. I worry that if Ewain ever attacked, no one could stand against him.” He frowned.
“Do you think he will?”
Munro wasn’t certain. “He’s capable of anything, but I don’t believe he’s an evil man.”
“He murdered Keeper Oszlár,” Eilidh said.
“After Oszlár came at him with a sword.” Munro shook his head. “Who wouldn’t defend themselves in the same situation?”
“He murdered you,” Eilidh insisted. “You did nothing to provoke him. I can never forgive him for that.”
Munro squeezed her hand. He could never tell her that Maiya had been the intended target. As far as Munro was concerned, Ewain was dangerous, but perhaps merely wanted to be left alone. “I wish I understood half of what he showed me.”
&nbs
p; Eilidh indicated the small runed tube hanging on a leather thong around his neck. “You could start with this,” she said.
He sighed. “I haven’t even worked out what it is.”
“Why did he give it to you?” she asked.
“He made a promise,” Munro explained. “Because I saved him at the end, he swore to teach the druids to advance our abilities. Whatever else happens, I believe he intends to keep his word.”
“It looks like a musical instrument,” Eilidh said, running a finger along the edge. “Have you tried blowing through the end?” When Munro turned the tube in his fingers, he shrugged. Eilidh shook her head. “See the small holes? It reminds me of a tiny Zalian flute. The mouthpiece is missing though.”
Munro put the artefact to his lips and blew. No sound came. After a moment, the surface runes began to glow and float away from the instrument, dancing in the air. Eilidh’s voice, her eyes, the magical flows around her, transformed into ribbons of flowing colour. Light slowed and sparkled.
Eilidh watched him. “What do you see?” she asked.
“Everything,” he replied with a smile. “I know what to do now.”
A Note from the Author
Thank you so much for reading Elder Druid. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to leave a review at your favourite online retailer.
I welcome contact from readers. At my website http://www.indiadrummond.com, you can contact me, sign up for my newsletter to be notified of new releases, read my blog, and find me on social networking. Follow my Facebook page (http://www.facebook.com/india.drummond.author) to hear about upcoming releases and giveaways.
—India Drummond
The Caledonia Fae series by India Drummond
Book 1: Blood Faerie
Unjustly sentenced to death, Eilidh ran—away from faerie lands, to the streets of Perth, Scotland. Just as she has grown accustomed to exile, local police discover a mutilated body outside the abandoned church where she lives. Recognising the murder as the work of one of her own kind, Eilidh must choose: flee, or learn to tap into the forbidden magic that cost her everything.
Caledonia Fae 05 - Elder Druid Page 27
