Misfortune of Song: Druid's Brooch Series: #5

by Christy Nicholas

  Eolande hissed, her teeth showing in a grimace. “No, no, they know evil. They court it, like a warrior courts a maiden. They sacrifice to the evil and offer it their souls. They are twisted and black, smoking husks of the men they once were.”

  With that, the girl pulled from Orlagh and skittered away to a back door. She disappeared into the shadows as the Ostmen spoke with her chief. One of the Ostmen, a shorter one with black hair, watched her leave with one eyebrow raised.

  Chapter 2

  Maelan knew what his chief sought. Now, more than ever, Diarmait needed to know what the Ostmen planned. Sure as the sun rose in the east, he’d ask Maelan to follow them back to Luimneach to spy on them. Therefore, Maelan simply made certain he wasn’t available for his chief’s summons. Even that came close to a violation of his vow of loyalty to his chief, but it remained better than the inevitable outright refusal. He organized a patrol and went out to search the forests. Perhaps he would find that wolf.

  No one else had complained of a massive wolf, but he knew what he’d seen. The creature prowled the land, and he’d best take care of the creature now. If the wolf mated this spring and begat a whole pack of cubs, the woods would be awash with predators.

  The farmers and their children would be in grave danger, and that would be bad for the ringfort. They relied upon the farmers to supply food, as the farmers relied upon the craftsmen in the ringfort to supply the tools, and the warriors to protect them. Each class had its place, and each relied upon all the others. Gaels maintained a close-knit society, one which the incursions of the Ostmen threatened.

  He held his spear across his body as he walked through the woods. The crunch of the dead leaves and snapping branches kept distracting his attention. The trees thinned out in this area, but the undergrowth grew more difficult to walk through, especially with any degree of stealth. His magic didn’t hide his sound or his smell, only his appearance. Instead, the magic created a trick of bending light, as far as he’d been able to tell. By redirecting the viewer’s vision around him, he became simply too thin to notice.

  Maelan had enlisted Eógan’s help many winters ago to test the magic. He recalled his friend’s resistance to the idea with a wry smile.

  Eógan had laughed when he first mentioned the talent. “What do you mean, magic? Like an entertainer’s trick? Making coins appear out of thin air or something?”

  Maelan had shaken his head. “No, my friend. Magic, real magic! Like something out of the old tales. Shall I show you?”

  Eógan had crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “Fine. Show me. But don’t expect me to take your magic trick at face value.”

  Smiling, Maelan drew on his power. The brooch lay hidden in his pouch. He didn’t need to hold the brooch, but working the magic became easier if the brooch was close. He noticed the shimmer before him, making the world around shift and twinkle. That indicated the magic worked; that and Eógan’s gasp.

  “Maelan! What… where did you go?” His friend looked around frantically. He leapt to check the closed door, the window, even under the bed. Maelan chuckled, and his friend stared at him, narrowing in on the sound.

  “I’m right here, Eógan. How did I work this trick? What’s the secret?”

  Eógan walked slowly around him. “I can perceive… something. A trick of the light. Like the sand on a hot, sunny day. Are you certain this isn’t some slight of vision?”

  “No, this is real magic, Eógan.”

  His friend crossed his arms. “And where exactly did you get this real magic? You’re no druid, and you’re certainly no god. Have you made a contract with the devil? Or saved some faerie queen from certain death?”

  With a laugh, Maelan dropped his magic and patted Eógan on the back. His friend jumped back with a shout. He almost tripped on the bed, but windmilled his arms until he stood steady once again.

  Still chuckling, Maelan shook his head. “You look like you’ve seen a spirit, my friend. I assure you, I am no such thing. Simply a man lucky enough to be given a magic talent of a sort. The magic becomes useful enough in the woods when I’m on patrol.”

  Eógan eyes grew wide. “You‘d be the best spy on the island with this, Maelan!”

  “You know me better than that, Eógan. I won’t spy on an enemy. They may be an ally tomorrow. That’s not within my code.”

  Eógan snorted. “Spying may not be in your code, but spying is absolutely in the chief’s code.”

  “Then you’ll have to be my delegate, and if he tells me to spy, I’ll send you instead. You have to be as good as I would be.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Eógan held out his hand. “Wonderful. Give me the magic, and I will do so.”

  Maelan shook his head. “I can’t. The brooch isn’t something I can gift to you. The legacy is mine and only mine until I pass the magic on to someone within my family.”

  “I’m your blood-brother.”

  Maelan sat on the simple wooden chair. “That’s not the same thing. I must gift the brooch to a true relation.”

  “Who, then? Your son and his wife are both gone from that fever.”

  “Young Orlagh is my best hope, but I’ve some distant cousins that might work.”

  Eógan frowned. “Orlagh is barely five. You can’t give a child magic like this.”

  “She won’t be five forever, and the magic talent is different for each holder. She won’t be able to disappear, but will have something different.”

  Eógan sat on the bed and regarded Maelan for several moments. “So, you’ve this powerful magic from some mysterious benefactor, and you won’t use it to help your chief or your clan, and you won’t give it to someone who can.”

  Maelan rolled his eyes. “I will use the magic to help both my chief and my clan. I will use my power on patrol around our grounds. I will not use it to enter our neighbor’s lands to spy on them. No power is to be used lightly. Every use exacts a price with a pounding headache. Even if I wanted to give it to you, I can’t. That’s not how this magic works, Eógan.”

  Eógan shook his head. “I don’t understand you sometimes, Maelan. You are a fine commander, but your decisions baffle me sometimes.”

  Standing, Maelan smiled. “And you baffle me all the time, Eógan. If we were the same, where would be the delight in life? Come, I owe you a drink. You’ve helped me today.”

  A rustle in the underbrush snapped Maelan’s attention back to the present. The red squirrel scampered up an ash tree and chittered at him until Maelan grinned. No, Eógan hadn’t understood his reluctance on that day, or any day since. However, Eógan didn’t need to understand him to follow his orders. Eógan was a good second, supportive of everything his commander requested, despite his occasional chafing in private.

  Nothing moved in this part of the woods. He’d circle out to some of the farms on the south side, to ensure they’d seen nothing lately. Perhaps he’d have his midday meal with them. The older couple on the far south edge made delicious oaten bread with honey. They always shared their bounty with their warrior protectors.

  * * *

  Orlagh stood in the courtyard with both hands on her hips, building up the energy to start her chores. The kitchen garden appeared daunting, even in the pre-dawn twilight. She’d neglected her weeding duties for too many days, and now the work would mean a long, tedious day.

  Perhaps she should make a game of the weeding. She’d find a few things for Eolande’s room, sprigs of angelica or juniper. Eolande always said she loved the scent of juniper, and having wild things nearby may help when she felt trapped indoors. The white star-like flowers of wild garlic beckoned to her in the dim light.

  Hearing rapid footsteps, Orlagh turned just as Eolande grabbed her hand and tugged. “Come, Orlagh, come! The birds are ready today. Today’s the best day to start!”

  Orlagh stood fast. “But I’m to help with the weeding in the kitchen garden this morning!”

  “You can do that later. We must hurry!”

  Orlagh laughed and pulled her
skirts up with her other hand, almost tripping on the flagstones before she found her stride. She thanked God she’d worn her sturdy boots today, and not her indoor shoes. The spring day would indeed be warm and full of life and sound. The rising light danced through the windows as they skittered through the kitchen, grabbing a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese.

  Out past the stables, the armory, and the pig pen. They ran through the wooden palisades with a wave to the guards, and up the earthen dyke and through the gate in the stone wall. Eolande’s raven followed them, swooping and cawing as he flew.

  “Wait, wait, Eolande! I must catch my breath.” Orlagh stood and panted, her hand on her side. The earthen ridge rose tall, and she had no practice running its height.

  Eolande glanced up at the surrounding hills. “Hurry, Orlagh! The dew will have dried.”

  “The dew? What in the name of God are you nattering on about, Eolande?”

  Her friend shook her head, her white tresses swishing back and forth. “Not God, no, definitely not God. Come, then, have you caught your breath yet?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed Orlagh’s hand once again and ran. This time Orlagh launched less awkwardly, but still staggered.

  They rushed through the open ground between the rock wall and the forest, and the ground rose. The hill to the north grew the tallest, and of course, that’s where Eolande dragged her.

  Up and up they ran, though Orlagh made them stop several times so she might catch her breath. Eolande seemed to have unlimited energy, especially this morning.

  As they got higher up the hill, the mists grew thick, and Orlagh had a difficult time seeing where they headed. Eolande didn’t hesitate. She ran along some imagined path, through the undergrowth and around stones and trees.

  Abruptly, they burst through the tree line, jumped over a stream, and reached the summit. Before them stood a small stone circle, several of them recumbent in the dewy grass.

  Orlagh had been here before, several times as she grew up, but rarely this early in the morning. In front of them stood but five stones, not like the larger circles in the south. Only the one in the east still stood tall. To this monolith Eolande rushed, placing her hands on the slick, dark stone and closing her eyes. The raven landed on the stone and watched her as she hummed.

  The stones hummed back.

  Orlagh examined each, trying to figure out how her friend made them sing. The stones sung in a low, steady hum, with no tune or melody, but the sound reached through the soles of her feet and into her bones.

  The vibration wasn’t a painful sensation, but a strong one. Orlagh dared to touch the standing stone herself, curious as to how the stone changed when active.

  The stone felt warm. The surface should have been ice cold. Certainly, spring had arrived, but spring didn’t grow warm in the early hours of the morning. Spring mornings remained chilly and damp and full of mist. The cold clamminess of the dew-wet grass seeped through Orlagh’s boots. How could the stone be as warm as a hearthstone?

  Eolande’s hum grew stronger, louder and the raven flapped his wings, cawing in an oddly melodic counterpoint. Now Orlagh hummed as well, her own hands on the stone, and together they harmonized with the land around them. The sound grew in volume and power until the sun burst through the fog and pierced them with a radiant beam. The warmth on her face made Orlagh gasp and open her eyes. Birds and butterflies swirled around them in a colorful dance. Orlagh laughed and spun, her arms flung out in the wonder of the moment. She had helped call in the spring of the day.

  Eolande stopped her humming and opened her own eyes. She turned and sat with her back to the monolith and giggled as several of the birds landed on her. The raven chased off the interlopers, jealous of his mistress. Orlagh sat as well, enjoying the sun and the sights. One starling alighted on her shoulder, and she regarded the creature with a curious gaze. The tiny bird cocked his head, chirped once, and then flew away into the vanishing mist.

  “I’m so glad we arrived in time to welcome the sun! I was afraid we wouldn’t.”

  “What exactly did we arrive in time to do, Eolande?”

  “Welcome the spring, of course! Silly. We’ve done this before. Don’t you remember? Every spring.” She lifted her hands, and several butterflies alighted on them.

  Orlagh shivered, despite the sun. “Not up here, we haven’t. I’ve been here before, but not this early.”

  Eolande kept her eyes closed, but smiled. “Well, maybe you didn’t come with me. I certainly have. Spring is my favorite time of the seasons.”

  “Oh, really? I couldn’t tell.” Despite her words, Orlagh was glad Eolande had brought her. They sat alone with the rising sun, the singing birds, and the warm earth. The mist still swirled below them, patches of cloud opening here and there to reveal the tops of trees and an occasional farm.

  Orlagh loved watching clouds, but she was usually below, looking up. Seeing them shift below her in the dawn was dreamlike and fascinating. There was the stone wall around the hillfort, and now it was gone. A patch opened up near the river, a glint of the sun reflecting off the water. A larger opening showed the big farm to the east, where they got their turnips in the spring and autumn seasons.

  Movement stirred in one of the patches, and she focused on the area. Men? Yes, she spied several people. A cart with several horses led by men and women dressed in bright colors. Orlagh couldn’t tell if she recognized them, but the clothing appeared unusual. Visitors usually meant stories and news. Suddenly she grew eager to be back in the hillfort.

  “Very well, if you must go, go. I’ll bide here a while longer. The birds haven’t finished telling me stories.”

  Orlagh stared at her friend. This wasn’t the first time the girl had read her mind, but she didn’t do so often. She shrugged and stood, descending at a much more sedate pace. The hill was quite tall, and she’d likely injure herself if she tripped. Of course, then she’d have reached the bottom much more quickly.

  By the time she reached the front gate, she’d become soaked in dew and mist. Orlagh glanced down at her simple léine, stained with mud, wet and wrinkled. So much for upholding her family honor, something her grandfather was always prattling on about. How would she be expected to keep dry walking through the mists? Such was an impossible task, like one of the ancient quests gods sent foolish mortals on.

  With a shrug of her shoulders, she walked into the hillfort with her head high and her dignity intact, despite her appearance.

  Nonchalance remained all well and good, but for new arrivals, she should look her best. When she reached her room, she couldn’t decide on what to wear. The green made her too pale, especially if the sun shone brightly today as the clear sky promised. The blue? No, the pale rose. The rose would set off her blonde hair. The reddish color also made her freckles stand out more, but she rather liked her freckles. Hers wasn’t a fashionable taste, but she didn’t care. Her mother had once told her they were kisses from the sun god.

  She faltered in her preparations at the memory of her mother. Both her parents had died in a virulent fever many years ago. She only had a few vague memories of either of them. Occasionally a strong one punched through, like the freckles one. Such memories often brought her to the edge of tears.

  Orlagh did have a sister, but Tarren had gone to live with their mother’s sister in Corcaigh. They’d not seen each other for several winters.

  She sniffed tears back and stared at the léine in her hands. Unconsciously, she had gripped the cloth so tightly it got wrinkled. With a grunt of displeasure, she shook the rose léine out and surveyed the damage. No, the fabric would be fine. Wearing the garment would smooth most of the wrinkles away.

  Pulling her hair back into a tight braid, Orlagh decided she appeared presentable. Oh, wait, her boots. She pulled off the soaked footwear and replaced them with soft open sandals. They would do well enough for the day, as long as she remained in the fort.

  Properly presentable, she went to the great hall, for surely tha
t’s where any guests would be entertained. Her excitement grew as voices laughed inside. Visitors hadn’t come to share tales for a long time.

  Orlagh loved all the old tales. Whether they were cautionary tales of warriors being foolish enough to turn down old women who happened to be goddesses, tragic tales of lost love and despair, or mad quests assigned by the gods, Orlagh loved every one of them. They transported her to another place, another life, another time. Oh, how she’d loved to have lived in those times.

  When Maelan finally convinced her to learn to read, she discovered more stories. If their old bard would allow her access to his private library, she’d never leave until she read every single scroll and parchment. She ached for the age of adventure and heartbreaking loves, of foiled fate and disastrous mistakes.

  Life today was boring. Day by day, little occurred to break the routine. Grow the food, harvest the food, eat the food. Raise the babies, marry them off, raise the next generation. Make a treaty, steal your neighbors’ cattle, fight a skirmish, make another treaty. Even the Ostmen were no longer such a thrilling threat. They had mostly settled and become farmers themselves.

  Perhaps the newcomers had some new stories to tell.

  The hall crowded full of people, even more than at the evening meal. Not only had the visitors arrived—she quickly found the bright clothing near the chief’s chair—but farmers and craftsmen from all over had joined them. They must have followed the visitors in, looking for the same entertainment Orlagh sought. The din of conversation became deafening, and for a moment, Orlagh shrunk from the onslaught of sound.

  She’d never catch stories from back here, though. With determination, she threaded through the farmers, bakers, tinkers, and servants until she reached the chief’s dais.

  Chief Diarmait’s grandson, Domnall, spoke with a very tall, thin man with curling brown hair. “What brings you to Ceann-Coradh, honored bard? We’d be delighted to host you for as long as you care to stay. Can we bring you refreshment for your travels?”