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

by Christy Nicholas

  Maelan just hoped they’d keep their inevitable coupling quiet while they were on this quest. He loved his blood brother, but he’d prefer not to hear his love-making every night, or every morning, for that matter.

  With a nod to them both, Maelan led the group toward the village. The first place to check was the guest roundhouse, the place the wastrels had been staying. If they were incredibly lucky, they were still in residence and Orlagh with them. However, he highly doubted his quest would be so easy.

  The sun dipped behind the hill before they reached the guest quarters, and as he suspected, they stood empty. A quick search inside showed the troupe had probably left at least a day before, judging from the cold hearth. Now the quest would be more difficult.

  Maelan stood outside the empty roundhouse and turned to Eógan. “So, which way shall we start?”

  His friend glanced at Utromma, who had already turned and walked away. With a shrug, Eógan followed her. Maelan hastened to catch up. The woman strode to the baker, who was busy putting away his unsold loaves.

  “The bard and his people. Did you notice them leave?”

  The baker smiled and looked her up and down. “Indeed I did, lovely woman. Yester eve, it was, with great pomp and ceremony. He bought all my bread, sweet and sour alike before he left.”

  Eógan placed a copper coin on the table and grabbed one of his wheaten loaves before he could put them away. “And did you remember in which direction they traveled?”

  The baker stared at the coin for a couple moments until Eógan placed another next to the first. He nodded. “Aye, they left on the north road. Singing and dancing their way along the path like a festival, they were.” He shook his head and made a rude noise.

  Eógan turned to look down the road. “Right. Off to the north, then.” He held his spear high, shook it a few times, and marched. Utromma rolled her eyes and followed with fewer theatrics, glancing down each of the side paths as they passed.

  Maelan nodded his thanks to the baker and followed. He’d lost control of this venture before he even began, but he wasn’t overly concerned. Eógan and Utromma were worthy companions on any quest.

  When they left the confines of the village and entered the forest itself, Eógan dropped his silliness and paid more attention to his surroundings. He might act the fool, but when the stakes were high, he was as solid as stone. The three fanned out with Utromma in the front as the lead tracker, Maelan in the middle watching the sides, and Eógan covering their rear. The classic scouting formation had been well-drilled into them since they were young students with their first wooden weapons.

  Maelan had been a solemn child. He’d had no brothers or sisters to play with, just his grandmother and foster brothers when he grew older. He’d not grown up in a village or a hillfort, but out on a lonely farm in the woods. His first lessons came from his grandmother. Her stamina and health belied her many winters.

  She’d explained when she gifted the brooch. “Mine is not an especially practical talent. It won’t help me in battle or my daily life. Still, the magic at least allowed me to gain some wisdom over the winters and raise a large family. Hopefully, your own talent will have a bit more sensible use.”

  In the end, his was more practical. When they discovered he could bend light to the point of being almost invisible, he’d tried the power out whenever he could. He wasn’t given to practical jokes, but sneaking up on his fellow warriors became a huge thrill at first. The activity quickly paled, though, especially with the throbbing headaches he got afterward. There was no challenge to such a thing when he used his talent.

  That practicality became part of his life. His grandmother had been a realistic woman, never giving to fancies or romance. At least, not when he knew her.

  A notion stopped Maelan, and Eógan almost collided into him. After an oath, Eógan pushed him forward, and Maelan continued walking. Utromma glanced back at their ruckus and grunted.

  Was his grandmother actually his grandmother? If she had eternal life, she might have been many generations older. She may have lived hundreds of winters before she gifted the brooch. Why had he never considered that before? But he remembered his grandfather, surely. Well, at least the man he’d called grandfather. How was Maelan to know if this was not just her most recent husband?

  He shook his head. This was not a puzzle he would ever know the answer to. He chided himself for moon-dreams and concentrated instead on the trees around him. If they were attacked while he wasn’t paying attention, he’d be mortified.

  After an hour or so, the last of the spring light faded, and they set up camp for the night.

  Utromma stood guard as Eógan set up the fire pit. Once the flames flicked merrily in the dark, Maelan grumbled, “We didn’t get very far. Do you think they’ll travel at night as well?”

  Eógan shook his head. “Why would they risk their horses in the dark? Bards may be immoral, but they aren’t idiots. As far as they know, there is no pursuit, no reason to chase them. They’ve broken no laws nor cheated anyone.”

  Maelan scowled as he hung Utromma’s stew pot over the fire. “I consider the bard’s treatment of Orlagh as a severe betrayal of guest-right.”

  Eógan scooped several cups of water into the pot and added some root vegetables and dried beef. “You may consider it so. I very much doubt if the bard gave guest-right a second thought. After all, the lass came willingly to his roundhouse.”

  Maelan stared at the pot and briefly considered hurling the heavy iron at Eógan. He didn’t want to get into an argument just then. He just wished the stew would boil so he could eat. Had he even eaten anything that day? He tried to remember, but couldn’t. Grabbing one of the bits of dried beef from Eógan, he gnawed on the leathery dried meat to quiet his growling stomach.

  Utromma glanced at him. “It won’t take long to cook, Maelan. We’ll wake with the sun to get a head start. Surely the bards will sleep in all morning. That sort always like to drink and sing into the night and wake with a pounding head.”

  When Maelan woke the next morning, his own head throbbed, but not from the drink nor the brooch’s magic. He’d pushed his concerns about Orlagh’s safety to the back of his mind as he trailed her, but when he tried to sleep, they clamored for attention. Images of her savaged by the giant gray wolf, or raped by wandering Ostmen, kept him awake through the night. The occasional howl or hoot in the night made each image seem more likely as the hours passed.

  The first light of dawn was dimmed by a steady pour of rain, and all three of them packed in a subdued mood. Adventure was exciting in fine weather, but more of a necessary slog when the Hibernian weather exerted its power. Today looked to be the latter sort of day.

  The north road didn’t go north for long. The path veered west when the western arm of Lough Dergart ate into the land. “Road” was glorifying the path into grandeur, in Maelan’s opinion. Even on a sunny day, the mud rarely dried from the scarce sunlight filtering down. Today the muck was a veritable morass of sticky, sucking sludge. His feet were black all the way to his knees. The gunk even got inside his good goatskin boots, making them squish unpleasantly.

  It was in this morose mood that he noticed the red and blue blur. The tiny kingfisher flitted through the trees and headed straight for his face. As it came closer, Maelan kept expecting it to swerve away. At the last moment, he lost his nerve and ducked. The loud, rattling call the bird made as it flew away sounded like mocking laughter to Maelan.

  This was an unusual activity for such a bird. They normally left humans alone. Maelan stored that bit of knowledge in his mind, along with the hundreds of other anomalies he collected, like the huge wolf he’d found last moon, the unusually high salmon count, and the heavy rains this spring. Sometimes that knowledge helped him figure out puzzles, but most often it was just knowledge for its own sake.

  Maelan liked knowing things. His grandmother’s gift of teaching him to read had been a godsend, allowing him to delve into archaic mysteries whenever a monk or priest
allowed him to spend time in their abbey scriptorium. Of course, most things important enough to be committed to the written word were ecclesiastical in nature, but some histories existed. The little scribe Chief Diarmait had hired was compiling one of Ceann-Coradh and the daily events at the ringfort. Orlagh called such things dull as ditch water, but she still learned to read. Maelan had the satisfaction at that accomplishment, at least.

  Thoughts of Orlagh brought his frustration and pain back into the forefront of his mind. The trek had momentarily pushed his worry away, but now it came back with a vengeance. He shoved down a fresh onset of tears, mortified at the idea of Utromma witnessing such weakness.

  With a few hard swallows, the sorrow passed, and he was able to concentrate once again on the surrounding countryside. They should be more than halfway to Inis by now, a large town on the river Forghas. It was still firmly in Ui Briain control and had a small hillfort besides. Chief Diarmait had even talked about relocating the royal seat there on occasion, but the priests had convinced him it was unnecessary. Perhaps if he truly wished to move the priests, he should build them an abbey there. Then they’d flock to the place like buzzards on a corpse.

  A movement to his left caught his eye.

  He halted, putting his arm out so Eógan wouldn’t stumble into him, and steadied his gaze. His two companions followed his look and froze. Slowly, Maelan drew his spear across his body, point toward the giant wolf. He sensed rather than saw Eógan and Utromma do the same.

  The wolf held his pose. It did not growl or snarl, nor did it back away or attack. It simply stared at them.

  Utromma whispered, “Do you think it’s what’s been stealing the cattle?”

  Maelan shook his head. “I’ve found no bones, no fur, no entrails left from the disappearances. Even the hungriest wolf will leave some remains of the carcass. Usually a jawbone or the hips. I’ve found nothing, not even once.”

  Eógan whistled softly. “It’s the largest wolf I’ve seen in my life. Is it even natural?”

  The wolf let out a sound halfway between a yip and a bark, shook its head, and turned. It walked away as if it hadn’t a concern in the world.

  As it disappeared into the trees, Maelan relaxed his pose, but kept his spear in his hand. “Pissmires and spiders, but I’m glad it didn’t decide to attack.”

  Utromma took a deep breath. “It still could. We’ll keep careful watch until we’ve left this part of the woods, aye?”

  Chapter 7

  Eolande grabbed her arm. “No, Orlagh! Don’t threaten him.”

  Orlagh stared at Eolande with incredulity, but her friend laughed and ran toward the giant gray wolf. Orlagh cried out, certain she would be mauled, but the wolf didn’t move. Eolande reached out and hugged the enormous shaggy creature, ruffling its mane and burying her face in his fur. The wolf turned and nuzzled the girl with a small yip. Orlagh stood and gaped at her friend.

  Eolande glanced up with a huge smile on her face. “There’s nothing to fear from Grandfather.”

  At those words, Orlagh examined the wolf. The huge animal shimmered into a dance of a thousand tiny sparkles, spiraling in the fading light. The sparks hummed and twisted, swirling into a column and then solidifying into a body. The body shone with bright white light and faded into an old man. His hair and impressive beard appeared to be the same gray as the wolf’s fur had been, with several large twigs and brambles caught within. Tawnith, the raven, landed on his head with a squawk. Eolande held his hand and gazed up at him.

  The old man grinned, revealing a few ragged teeth. Then he bowed, making the raven flutter and caw in complaint.

  “Grandfather! I’ve not seen you in much too long.” Eolande jumped into his arms.

  He caught her and swung her around several times, planting a kiss on her white hair before putting her down. “Ah, my sweet Eolande. It has indeed been too long. I noticed you up at the stones several times, but I always remained too far away to join you in singing to the dawn.”

  The girl pouted. “But I would love your help!”

  He shook his head with a sad smile. “I must be careful so close to the ringfort, child. Many of that lot would delight in skinning me and parade their trophy for all to cheer.”

  Orlagh found her voice. “You? You’re the wolf?”

  The old man grinned down at his granddaughter. “She’s a quick one, eh?”

  Eolande giggled and skipped to Orlagh, took her hand, and drew her toward the old man. “Orlagh, this is my grandfather. He sometimes takes on the form of a wolf, but this is his true form.”

  Orlagh wanted to pull her hand from Eolande’s, but daren’t be rude. She didn’t want to touch the old man. In fact, she wanted to run away, as fast as her legs would carry her, into the dark, threatening forest. Anything would be safer than meeting a Fae face to face. For Fae this man must be if he took a wolf’s form at will. She couldn’t run away, though. She couldn’t even move. She remained fixed in place, like a pillar of salt from the bible story.

  The old man smiled, taking pity on her. “Fear not, lass. While many of my kind are not to be trifled with, I’m half human. I remember the trials and tribulations of my mother and do not trifle with human fate. Now, I’m not someone who suffers an insult lightly, but I’m not capricious or cruel like others may be.”

  Her heart tightened in fear. She didn’t believe him, but Orlagh had been raised in the royal hillfort. She well knew appearances often mattered, even if she didn’t always behave as such. This time, appearances did matter. She forced herself to smile and held out her hand, palm up in greeting.

  Eolande giggled at the gesture while her grandfather outright laughed. “Child, I shall never make you do what you fear. You needn’t give me a formal greeting when I frighten you so. You’ve taken good care of my dear heart here for many winters. For such I shall always be grateful.”

  The tightness in her chest retreated at these words, and she didn’t need to force her next smile.

  He laughed again, but it was a lighter laugh this time. He turned to Eolande. “Ah, and that’s better. Now, to why I revealed myself to you. I found those whom you seek, child. Would you like to know where they are?”

  Orlagh furrowed her brow. “Do you mean Temuirr and his bards? Didn’t Eolande ask the raven to find them?”

  He turned to her, his eyes flashing dark. “And do you think I cannot speak with the ravens, human child? Time was when every Fae child loved their own bonded raven and spoke to them without words. Such time is long gone, alas, but we still hold some bonds between the raven-kind and the Fae.”

  Orlagh gulped. A moment ago she had been frightened out of her wits, and now she questioned the old man’s words? Was she a complete idiot or simply mad? Perhaps a bit of both.

  Eolande cocked her head and smiled up at him. “You found them? Do lead us, grandfather! Orlagh is most eager to meet her lover again.”

  The old man scratched his beard several times, regarding Orlagh with hooded eyes. “Yes, I imagine she is quite eager. Orlagh, are you certain you want to find him? Your fate is not yet set.”

  All the stories said Fae spoke in riddles. While she tried to formulate a safe answer, Eolande piped up. “Of course, she does! Why else would she give up everything she had to come find him?”

  The man glared down at Eolande, his eyes flashing with sparks of light. “Shush, Eolande! I know you love the girl, but she must answer this question with her own voice.”

  Orlagh tried to swallow once again and found a hard place where her throat had once been. She nodded, but he still waited. Her voice, he said. He must hear her voice say yes. She stood up straight, moved her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “I am certain.”

  He stared into her eyes for several seconds, playing with his long beard. She felt the pressure of his regard as a physical force, pushing on her backward until she pushed back, strong and firm. He sighed and nodded. “Then so be it, O human child. Things shall be as you wish. Just remember, you chose this path.” With
those words, the old man disappeared, and the wolf stood in his place. With a shake of his head and a brief yip to Eolande, the creature bounded in a direction west of where they’d been traveling, along the raging river rather than across.

  Barely an hour later, they found the camp, nestled in a grassy meadow off the edge of a barren stone area. Orlagh had known tales of this place, or at least, the part of the island covered in this type of stone. The land appeared flat, but when you got closer, thousands of crinkled cracks appeared throughout the flat stone, forming little holes and spaces where precious, tiny flowers of all kinds would grow. The entire area was difficult to farm or settle and remained largely unpopulated. Still, the bards had chosen to camp here.

  Their horses and mules were tethered in a makeshift pen near a small creek which fed into the river, while several sturdy, colorful tents surrounded a firepit. The camp remained silent and still. Though they’d already been traveling for several hours, they’d risen with the dawn. The bards must have been up late into the night and slept in.

  The wolf shone with his sparkling light, and the old man once again stood before Orlagh. He put out his hands, palm up. Hesitantly, she covered his with hers in greeting. “This is where you will find your destiny, child.”

  “Please stop calling me child. I’m a woman grown.”

  He smiled. “From my perspective, all of your people are but children. You are very much still a child in your heart. May you have joy of your choice and your fate, Orlagh.”

  Orlagh opened her mouth to thank him, but the light shone again. The glow swirled into insubstantial shapes and dances, and not even a wolf was left when the light faded. Orlagh glanced all around for the old Fae man, but he was nowhere in sight. She glanced at Eolande, but only received a shrug in response.

  She was loath to disturb the bards’ sleep. If she was to throw herself upon their mercy for a place to live and love, she had best be on their good side before asking. She settled her pack down and took out some cheese, offering a bit to Eolande. Her friend took her bit, broke it in half, and walked away. She came back some moments later with only her half of the cheese.