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

by Christy Nicholas

  Eolande entered some time later, freshly washed and dressed in a lovely shade of rose. She placed her hands on her hips and frowned. “We must do something with your hair, Orlagh.”

  Orlagh put a hand on her head and glanced up. “We must?”

  “Indeed we must. Now, sit here, and I’ll get to work.”

  Sitting on the stool, Orlagh draped a woolen cloth over her shoulders. She didn’t want any accidents to harm the silk. With many tugs, brushes and pulls, and a few exclamations from Orlagh, Eolande braided Orlagh’s hair into a complex, high pile with strategic wisps falling gently to her shoulders. She held up a silver mirror for Orlagh to see her handiwork. Tawnith cawed his approval.

  Orlagh whistled. “I look like a Faerie Queen! Eolande, how did you do that?”

  “Oh, I’ve had some experience with complex styles, back before I moved to Ceann-Coradh.”

  “But who did you learn on?”

  Eolande shrugged and opened the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  Orlagh fancied Eolande still looked like a young girl, even at seventeen. In truth, her friend had barely changed at all in the ten winters Orlagh had known her. While Orlagh had never grown tall, Eolande must have attained her height before she moved.

  Only a few minutes later, her friend returned, sprigs of tiny deep blue flowers in her hands. “Now, let me just weave a few of these in your hair, and you’ll be ready. The flowers in that wreath are already wilted.”

  “What does the glade look like? Is everything prepared yet?”

  Eolande placed four of the sprigs and then searched for a fifth spot. “Soon, soon. You can hear Yana, right?”

  “Not her words, but her voice carries from the clearing pretty easily.”

  Eolande chuckled. “She’s been haranguing everyone non-stop all afternoon. You’d think this was a royal wedding, for all the fuss she’s created. She’s got a carpenter building benches, for Danu’s sake. The archway is simply dripping with spring flowers, so much you can’t make out the wooden frame.”

  Orlagh took a deep sniff, appreciating the savory aromas of the wedding feast. “She’s making a lot of food?”

  “She’s had four cauldrons going non-stop. This will be an affair to remember, no doubt!”

  Orlagh’s stomach suddenly roiled, and she jumped up to open the door before she became sick. Eolande grabbed her arm. “No, you mustn’t go outside yet!”

  Orlagh spun around and bent over, holding her stomach. She tried not to retch, and Eolande held her head and grabbed the waterskin. “Shh, you’ll be fine. You’re just nervous. This is your first time with a man, aye? I’ve told him he’d best be gentle, or he’ll answer to me. I think I made him a bit scared.”

  Despite her nausea, this made Orlagh giggle. She took a sip of the water Eolande offered, and the drink helped. She swallowed several times before sitting, to be certain her gorge wouldn’t rise again. Why was she so upset? This was what she wanted. Eolande’s grandfather’s words haunted her, but she pushed them away. This was the path she had chosen for herself.

  Yana’s voice filtered into the leather tent, calling her name. She glanced at Eolande and stood, shoulders straight. The time had come. Eolande took her arm and escorted her out.

  The mists still lingered in the trees. The damp, cool odor of wet wood and smoke clung to everything like a shroud. She couldn’t see all the way to the clearing yet, just the tents around the firepit. The mess reminded Orlagh of the damage after a storm, with tools and discarded items thrown everywhere. Yet no rain had fallen all day. This was simply the detritus of a mad dash to organize, decorate and feed a wedding.

  Laughter drifted through the fog and Orlagh squeezed Eolande’s arm. Her friend whispered, “This is your last chance to change your mind. Do you choose this path of your own free will?”

  She stopped, glaring at Eolande. “Yes, I choose this path! Can everyone please stop asking me that?”

  Eolande stared at her for several long moments, her violet eyes growing opaque black. Orlagh was drawn into those eyes, almost as if she was falling down a deep hole. Reality winked away and became a long tunnel, surrounded by angry roots and sharp thorns. Then she blinked and the world was once again a misty forest. Eolande narrowed her eyes and then nodded, apparently satisfied with whatever happened.

  Orlagh considered asking her friend what just happened, but something in Eolande’s manner forbade questions. She was just glad her friend was by her side. Instead, Orlagh squeezed Eolande’s hand, took a deep, wavering breath, and walked toward the still-ringing laughter.

  The clearing was decorated with so many colors, Orlagh had to check to ensure they were still in the woods. Reds, yellows, greens, and blues draped over every possible surface in a rainbow. Cloth streamers and ribbons fluttered from every tree, flowers dripped from the enormous wooden arch, and each person was dressed in their best clothing. Savory aromas of fish, roast beef, mushrooms, garlic, and onions overpower the more delicate scent of flowers. The raven swooped from table to table, surveying the morsels on offer.

  Orlagh halted, searching for Temuirr, but he was nowhere to be found. Yana spied her and rushed up. “There you are, sister-to-be! Now, you must stand just here, and I shall fetch Temuirr. Tam! Start the music. Finnegan, I need you to give the young lady away.”

  “The damp hurts my bones, Yana. I’ll get there when I get there.”

  “You’ll get here now. Faster, now, old man, I know you’re spry enough when you have a mind to.”

  He continued to grumble, but when he took Orlagh’s arm, he smiled at her and patted her hand. “You’re a lovely child. Why you’ve agreed to marry that wastrel, I’ll never know. If you really want a bard to wed, I’ll be happy to marry you instead! I’m a much more stable bet.”

  Orlagh laughed, giddy butterflies taking residence in her stomach. “I’d have been honored to be your wife, Finnegan, but I’d go mad from lack of conversation.”

  He grunted, but didn’t argue the point. Yana had disappeared from the clearing, but her voice echoed in the mists. “Temuirr, come now, it’s time! Put that down. No, you can’t carry it with you. There will be plenty later. Will you look at yourself? What have you done to your good léine? I swear you’re no better than a child yourself. There. That’s somewhat better. Quickly now.”

  When the mists parted to reveal her groom, he was dressed in blue silk as well, a match to her own. He had a wreath of flowers in his curly brown hair, which he scratched at as he glanced at her. He stopped and held out both arms, one hand holding an empty stone jug. “My lovely bride is a sight to behold! Can we not dispense with the ceremony and get right to the fun?”

  He staggered slightly, but Yana held him steady and steered him to the arch. “I showed you what to do, Temuirr, did I not?”

  With a nod and a silly smile, he turned to Orlagh, putting his hand out. “I invite you within the circle.”

  Finnegan placed her hand into Temuirr’s, and Orlagh gave a solemn nod of her own. Yana handed a dagger to Temuirr and a goblet of mead to Orlagh. The cool moisture condensing on the goblet made it slippery, and she struggled to hold it with her free hand.

  A tall, lanky man dressed in a pale brown robe, evidently the Druid, stood to one side of the arch. He wore a wreath of ivy and had dancing blue eyes. He chanted a blessing to the sky, sea, and land. He called for the blessings of the gods, goddesses, nature spirits, ancestors, and the Others. Orlagh chilled at the mention of the last, but she kept her hand from trembling.

  The Druid called on Mannanan, god of the Sea, to open the gates. He asked that this tree become the world tree, and this cauldron become the world well.

  She commanded her stomach to behave and looked up at Temuirr. He kept his gaze forward, but squeezed her hand. The Druid called for a member of each family to stand near the happy couple. Eolande and Yana stepped forward and took their places. Orlagh was dimly aware of tin whistle music, but she daren’t turn around to see who played. It must be Finnegan, as neither
of the twins was so skilled. The light, bright notes tripped and played in the swirling mist.

  Orlagh’s mind whirled as the Druid spoke. She paid little attention to his words, but when Temuirr spoke his vow, she latched onto every syllable.

  “You will have me from the god’s own grip.

  You will have my honor bright.

  The sun and the moon as well,

  Sea and land, dew and light.”

  Somehow, she repeated the vows. Eolande turned her, so she faced Temuirr, and Yana did the same to her brother. He lifted the dagger and placed it carefully into her upraised mug.

  She lifted her hand in Temuirr’s when told and stood still while the Druid tied two ribbons around their wrists in a loose knot. Her groom squeezed her hand, and she shot him a shy smile, returning the squeeze.

  The Druid offered three blessings on their union, untied the knot, and tied one ribbon on her wrist and one on Temuirr’s. Then they both drank from the mug to the cheers of all the onlookers. In a daze, she glanced around, noting there must be more than thirty people watching. Where had all those people come from?

  “With the blessings of the old gods, I declare these two joined in love as husband and wife! Witnessed and blessed, may their love partake of the beauty, majesty, and power of this sacred earth!”

  Orlagh grew faint. Temuirr held tight to her hand and guided her to a bench. “Are you well, my bride? You look about to fall over!”

  She sat, grateful for the solid wood surface. “I… I must be hungry. I’ve not eaten anything yet today.”

  He stood and bellowed. “Food! Food for my bride! Must I fetch it myself?”

  A half dozen people rushed forward with full plates of roast meat, stew, and fruit. Orlagh laughed at the excess of choice and took the closest plate with a dignified nod. Temuirr took another and sat, placing his arm around her.

  “Well? Which would you like first? I’d be honored to feed my new wife whatever delicacy she prefers.”

  Not trusting herself to speak, she pointed to the roasted mushrooms, one of her favorites. He took a small one and popped it into her mouth. It was delicious, but hot. She sucked in some cool air. Sipping some mead afterward, she opened her mouth for a second bite. This time he tore a piece of tender roast beef and placed it on her tongue with a smile. She returned it and chewed, closing her eyes in appreciation of the savory taste.

  His indulgence made her imagine she was a princess, with servants waiting on her every desire. It was all she’d ever hoped for. Her cheeks ached with a permanent smile as he offered her another morsel.

  Orlagh ignored the bustle and cacophony of the other guests. Right now, her entire world was Temuirr. There was dancing, singing, and stories, but still, she paid no attention to them, despite her love for the tales. She lived within Temuirr’s eyes, and he within hers. Soon, people faded away, back to their village homes, and the only remaining guests were Yana, Eolande, Tam, Cam, and Finnegan.

  Yana stood over them, hands on her hips. “All right, you two. Aren’t you ready yet for the rest of the night?”

  Orlagh gulped. As blissful as the evening had been, now was the time she’d both dreaded and anticipated. Her wedding night.

  She’d been told so many stories of love-making. She’d seen it a few times, coming across a couple in the woods. Of course, everyone had seen animals with their coupling, but it was different with people. There was tenderness and teasing, affection and passion. That’s what she wanted for herself, and what she craved from Temuirr.

  With a mighty grin, Temuirr stood and took her hand, drawing her to her feet. With a giddy laugh, he hefted her into his arms, and she cried out in surprise, latching her arms around his neck for balance. With a final nervous glance at Eolande and Yana, both standing with their arms crossed in mock severity, they entered the wedding tent.

  Chapter 9

  Maelan pulled his brat closer around his shoulders. The pernicious mists refused to burn away, and the first village had provided no clues to his granddaughter’s whereabouts. They approached the second village with low spirits and lower expectations.

  A tiny tavern perched on the rocky coast. Eógan smiled, his head lifting. “We can at least enjoy a drink! The sun is setting anyhow. We can start again in the morning. Hopefully, the sun will appear for once!”

  Maelan grunted. He didn’t want a drink. He must find Orlagh and go home. His chief had either panicked or become outraged at Maelan’s truancy by now. The fact they’d not yet been found by any messenger was no solace. What if the Ostmen had attacked while Maelan was gallivanting around the countryside on his mad personal quest? What if the Ui Conchobar had launched a massive raid? What if Diarmait’s brother, Murtough, had risen from his deathbed and deposed Diarmait? This wouldn’t be the first time. Each brother had bested the other countless times before.

  The door squeaked when Eógan pushed in, and a lone man sat at a keg. He glanced up from his drink, bloodshot eyes peering out from the gloom.

  Eógan pulled a coin from his purse and slapped the copper on the barrel. “Three mugs of your good drink, sir!”

  The man grunted and shuffled to the back wall. He selected some mugs from the jumbled shelves and proceeded to pour a mug for each of them. Maelan peered at his. The stuff was darker than he liked, but it didn’t smell bad. The brew was yeasty and thick. He took an experimental sip and raised his eyebrows at Utromma. This wasn’t a half-bad brew; bitter and strong, but tasty. Utromma narrowed her eyes and followed his example. She smiled after she tasted it, and Eógan settled on a bench by the wall. The roundhouse had room for at least twenty people, but they were the only guests.

  Eógan nodded to the owner. “Not much for conversation, eh?”

  The man grunted, wiped his lips on the back of his sleeve, and ignored them. Eógan gave a half-smile and drank half his mug in one gulp.

  Utromma looked into her now-empty mug. “Should we find real shelter tonight, or will we set up tents once again?”

  Maelan peered out through the still-open door. Twilight was well past, and full dark had fallen. The mist continued to cling to everything, permeating his very bones. All he desired at this point was to be warm and dry, but such comforts weren’t likely this night. Eógan sighed. “Tents, more’s the pity. Do you really expect anything that looks like a guesthouse in this place?”

  Maelan smiled that his friend’s thoughts so echoed his own. He nodded at Eógan and finished his own mug. He pulled a coin from his purse. The ale was too good for just one mug.

  “Another round. Where is everyone tonight? You must be used to more custom.”

  The man nodded. “Wedding.”

  That would explain the empty tavern. This man likely had few friends or was too greedy to close his tavern even for a slow night. Perhaps someone at the wedding would have word of Orlagh and Eolande. They could finish their mugs, and the celebration would surely still be full.

  A wedding. Maelan furrowed his brow. Whose wedding? They’d only taken their first sip when someone stumbled into the pub and went straight to the keg. The man appeared young, perhaps about twenty winters old. He’d obviously already been drinking most of the evening, from his shaky stance, but was game to keep going at the tavern. Maelan started to ask him about the wedding when three more people came in, laughing and pushing each other with rowdy abandon.

  Utromma swigged her second mug. “If the celebration’s breaking up, we’d best hurry. We need to ask questions before everyone’s home asleep.”

  Eógan looked mournfully at his mug, and then swallowed the dregs before slamming it on the table. “Right! First, let’s ask our new friends here.”

  He walked to the three still getting mugs from the keg. A few mumbled exchanges and a staccato laugh later, Eógan returned.

  “We’re in luck, Maelan! Orlagh may have been at the wedding!”

  Leaving his half-empty mug, Maelan grabbed his brat and was out the door before Eógan finished his sentence. He glanced back to see Eógan do
wn his abandoned ale before hurrying along the coast, his brat pulled tight against the damp chill. Quickly, the sounds of merriment at the tavern were swallowed by the fog, and the only sounds were the odd echoes of Maelan’s own boots on the gravel path. Utromma and Eógan caught up with him, but said nothing. They knew how much this meant to him, and had no need to speak.

  The celebration was farther than he’d imagined, and his urgency dimmed after they’d walked twenty minutes in the dark. Only the bright moon helped them stay on the path, other than the occasional drunken reveler stumbling past them to their homes. A faint glow showed ahead. A fire must still burn at the wedding, which meant his Orlagh might still be there.

  He wanted to run, dash forward in case he arrived too late, but that would be madness in the dark. He concentrated on his steps and staying on the path.

  Laughter and singing drifted through the fog. Maelan homed in on the glowing mist like a moth to the flame. A few voices laughed, and maybe someone playing a tin whistle. He prayed Orlagh was still there.

  When he broke the treeline and staggered into the celebration, he was panting. He searched for her bright golden hair, but instead found Eolande’s white tresses, glittering in the firelight.

  A few steps bridged the distance to the Fae girl. He gripped her by the shoulders and gave her a small shake. “Eolande! You’re here! Where’s Orlagh? Where’s my granddaughter?”

  She looked at him with wide eyes and fell into a fit of giggles. He glanced around, seeing the two young men who had accompanied the troupe. Orlagh was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the bard. Maelan’s stomach dropped, and he let go of Eolande’s shoulders. He backed up several steps.

  “Wedding. This was a wedding. Whose wedding, Eolande?”

  The girl shrugged and skipped off. Damn Fae child. He turned to the bard’s sister, who had at least seemed sensible to him before. What had her name been? Maelan couldn’t remember. The woman sat with quiet dignity, sipping a goblet.