Misfortune of Time

by Christy Nicholas

  Two paths led into the woods.

  Which one should she take? She cast her memory back to Digdi’s words, but the old woman never mentioned two paths.

  After turning to Bódonn, she asked, “Well? Which way should we go, my friend? Left or right?”

  The cow gazed down each path, but showed no preference. Étaín sat heavily on the grass, frustrated. The problem with prophecies and Fae guides is they never mention everything. There’s always that one bit of essential information they conveniently forget to tell.

  Étaín wanted to cry. The tears burn behind her eyes, but she refused to give in to the frustration. After grabbing two handfuls of grass in her hands, she tore them out of the ground and ripped them to shreds. It helped salve her temper somewhat. She tore out two more handfuls and Bódonn mooed.

  Startled by the sound, Étaín glanced up. A hare hopped across their path, fleet and brown. Étaín stood frowning and watched it bound along the left-hand path.

  She blinked several times and frowned at the cow. Étaín decided she shouldn’t ignore the obvious. Perhaps the small hare she’d helped that spring sent a friend to help. She picked up her cart and walked down the left path, trusting Bódonn to follow.

  A half-league in, Digdi had said, stood an oak grove. When Étaín reached what she judged to be the right spot, the dense growth opened to a small clearing. In the center of the clearing stood a precise ring of oak trees in a circle. They stood like an ancient Faerie stone circle, but with primeval, gnarled, moss-covered oaks. No bushes, bracken or tall grasses grew near the base of these oak trees. They stood clear and alone in their circle as if guardians of some dark secret within.

  The forest became perfectly silent as she approached. No birdsong, no squirrels chattering, no rustling in the leaves. She glanced over her shoulder constantly, but nothing stirred, not even the breeze. Even Bódonn stood placidly on the edge of the grove. The hare disappeared.

  With trepidation, she walked around the circle of trees, reluctant to enter without first examining the place. Sunwise she walked, peering in at each space. The circle formed a large area, at least an acre, with over three score massive trees surrounding it. She estimated at least a hundred people could stand inside comfortably.

  No one stood there now; at least, no one she saw.

  Finally, after a full circuit around the trees, she decided to enter. Else why would Digdi send her here? To ignore or disdain a gift of the Fae courted disaster. While holding her breath, she tiptoed through the widest space between two trees on the eastern edge of the circle.

  If she expected something fantastic or mystical to happen, the circle sorely disappointed her. The heavens didn’t open, scores of druids didn’t magically appear, nor did she fall into Faerie, forever lost to the world.

  Instead, she twisted her ankle on an innocent pebble, cried out, and fell to her knees.

  Frustrated and limping, she made a thorough investigation of the space inside. An ancient fire pit lie in the center, but most of the char had long since washed away in the rains. Étaín judged no one had built a fire there in at least five winters. Someone kept the growth clear of the trees, but no other use seemed to be made of the ring. It hadn’t been tramped down with the feet of a hundred boots, nor did she smell the lingering odors of people, woodsmoke, food, or drink.

  The place appeared desolate and abandoned in every sense.

  To relieve the pain on her ankle, Étaín leaned against the nearest oak, a massive, twisted tree which seemed to reach out and touch her with its lower branches. The living warmth of the wood spread through her fingers as she leaned against the bark.

  She glanced at the sun, but this part of the trunk stood in the shade. It should have been much cooler.

  She gingerly placed both hands on the bark, closing her eyes to concentrate on the wood beneath her skin. It pulsed with an inner beat like a huge heart, slow and steady; the heartbeat of an ancient being, stolid and strong, surviving through countless winters and lives.

  Like she had.

  An inhuman cry made her jump, and she spun around, her belt knife out and ready to defend herself. Frantically, she looked around, trying to identify the source of the sound. Finally, she looked at Bódonn.

  It hadn’t been a bovine noise, but something stood on the cow’s head. A huge raven fluttered its wings. It cawed again, perhaps in response to her stare.

  For all she knew, it could have been the same raven who’d landed on the cow’s head on the trip to the cave.

  The raven flitted to a branch, south of the oak grove. It glanced back at her as if waiting.

  Waiting? Did it want her to follow? She glanced at Bódonn, but the cow chewed her cud, uninterested in the bird.

  What harm would it do to follow the bird? What harm, indeed. She grabbed the cart and with a rueful chuckle moved south. Bódonn followed with a plaintive moo.

  Each time Étaín got close to the raven, it flitted off again, waiting for her and Bódonn to catch up. Several hours later, it finally stopped, alighting upon a tall stone.

  When Étaín looked to see where it brought her, she saw a large flat mound, perhaps forty feet across, with a deep ditch dug out around it. Eight tall standing stones stood in the center, arranged in a circle, much as the oak trees had been.

  Unlike other Faerie circles, she’d seen, each stone aligned to the center of the circle, as opposed to the edge of the circle. All stood taller than she, squat and massive. Varying shades of white lichen and green moss painted each surface.

  In the center stood a mound of stones, like a burial cairn.

  Étaín didn’t know how long she stood there, staring at the stones. They shimmered somehow in the late afternoon sun. The sight made her lightheaded, and she stumbled, dropping the cart. She grabbed Bódonn’s flank to keep from collapsing, and she remembered she’d eaten little that day.

  Carefully bending over, she reached for the small sack with her food. Dried meat and cheese would work wonders. Before she secured these items, though, the raven swooped at her, cawing and squawking, and batted her face with its wings. Shouting, she beat at it, trying to protect her face and shoo it away at the same time. She cowered next to the cart, her arms covering her head.

  The dizziness returned, and she fell to the ground. She couldn’t keep her eyes open and moaned from the sudden aches and pains which attacked her body. It felt as if she’d never recovered from her illness in the cave.

  Rocking back and forth, she held her knees to her chest, begging the pain to pass. It hurt worse than before, far worse. Her mind wouldn’t think, and her body wouldn’t obey her.

  Bódonn nudged Étaín with her nose, like that morning. On a desperate hunch, she opened her eyes and glanced at the cow’s udder. Yes, she needed to be milked. Pushing through her mind fog, she remembered how much better she felt the last time she’d drunk the cow’s milk. Étaín fumbled in the cart for her bowl. She didn’t bother with the heavy cauldron, as she possessed no strength at the moment.

  A few squeezes and she got a mere mouthful into the bowl. Quickly she drank it down. She’d forgotten about the hot, burning sensation, but she ignored it. The healing power of the milk coursed through her like flame, into each arm and leg, until her dizziness eased and she could think clearly once again.

  The milk didn’t heal her immediately, but close enough Étaín couldn’t deny the effect. Bódonn’s milk definitely had a soothing influence on whatever sickness she’d contracted. She’d never suffered a fever so bad in her life, and the suddenness of the onset frightened her to her soul’s core.

  Alone, with no one who knew where she’d gone, she could die easily in this wilderness.

  Alone. Such a harsh, evil word, alone. While Étaín appreciated her solitude when she lived in town, it could be a desperate condition when you had no other option. Alone meant you had no resources, no affection, and no companionship. Alone meant no one remembered or mourned you.

  Alone.

  Would it be so
terrible if she died here? No one would miss her. Well, perhaps Maelan would think of her from time to time, but Airtre must have already crafted some wild tale to explain her departure. He’d make up a reason which would satisfy the child and keep him from seeking her.

  Perhaps she should let the illness take her away from this life. What need did she have to survive, anyhow? To support a Fae cow? To chase a maddening raven across the land? To find another husband to take care of her, someone who might beat her? What solace would she discover in finding a man to make her decisions, own her property, take her body whenever he liked?

  Étaín had grown so very tired. Tired of fighting for survival. Tired of raising children of her body and her heart, only to see them die of a fever or an injury. Tired of leaving all she held dear to disappear in the night in a cloud of mystery and misery.

  Her life became a series of half-lived lives. She could never become the person she pretended to be. She must forever hide her magical secret. It would be easier to let go of the strands and allow fate to cut her last cord.

  With determination and desolation warring within her, Étaín walked around the stone circle sunwise, just as with the oak trees. She walked in at the eastern edge and lay down on the cairn. She stared at the darkening sky, watching the peach-cotton clouds drift across the deepening blue dusk.

  The tears burst through her, unbidden but oddly welcomed. The crying became cathartic, releasing some of the pain and fear she’d held inside for too many winters, too many lifetimes.

  After the tears came the cries, and after the cries came the shouts. She screamed in animal despondence, clenching her fists and arching her back, defying God to take her away from the agony of her endless life.

  “Are you in pain, human woman?”

  The tinkling voice made her cry out and lose her balance on the stones. After scrambling off the cairn in terrified haste, Étaín whirled to see a figure standing next to her, head cocked to one side.

  No human had skin so blue. The creature’s midnight black hair shone blue in the dying light, and her hand reached out to touch Étaín’s shoulder.

  She took several steps away from the Fae and took out her belt knife while her blood raced and her heart pounded. Perhaps she wouldn’t yet to surrender to death. “Who are you?”

  The Fae laughed, a twinkling sound like a summer brook in the sunlight. “You have no reason to fear me, human creature. I have no interest in harming you. If I had, I would have granted your wish.”

  Étaín had no answer. Even if she hadn’t articulated her death wish in words, it must have been obvious to every creature for a league she wanted to die. The fact this Fae hadn’t killed her intrigued her.

  Life gave her a puzzle, and she must untangle it. Could this be what Digdi had sent her to do? How could she refuse a Fae command?

  “Fair enough. What is your name?”

  The Fae smiled, and suddenly the world around her paled next to her beauty. Her teeth glinted wickedly pointed and bright white against her pale blue skin. “You may call me Flidaisínn.”

  PART IV

  Chapter 9

  Loch Riach, autumn, 1055AD

  As Étaín took Flidaisínn’s hand, the Fae woman pulled gently, lifting Étaín to her feet. For a moment, they stood close, almost embracing. At that proximity, she should have been able to sense the other woman’s body heat, but she sensed nothing. The Fae’s hand felt like a lifeless thing, cold and empty. Étaín resisted the urge to snatch her hand away.

  It didn’t pay to be rude to the Fae.

  “Étaín, you are in too much pain. I heard your cry across the realm and into Faerie. What can I do to help?”

  While narrowing her eyes, Étaín backed up several steps. This time she did drop the Fae’s hand. “I know better than to make a bargain with your kind, Flidaisínn. I thank you for your help, but I can ask nothing of you.”

  Flidaisínn smiled. “You ask nothing, but I can offer, nevertheless. I will be certain to lay out all details so you will know before you decide. Does such sound fair to you?”

  Étaín gave a curt nod and sat back down on the cairn. Flidaisínn sat next to her. “This human world is trying. I could not live here overlong myself, and to be yourself, with your gift, it must be horrible.”

  Étaín furrowed her brow. “My gift?”

  Flidaisínn touched Étaín’s clothing, near where the pouch lay hidden beneath her léine. Inside the pouch lay her brooch. Étaín gasped and flinched away from the Fae’s touch.

  With another smile, Flidaisínn nodded. “Yes, the brooch. I sensed it the instant I came to your call, human child. Its power burns brighter than any lantern for the Fae. It calls, beckons for our attention.”

  Étaín clutched at her pouch and sidled further from Flidaisínn.

  Flidaisínn shook her head and giggled, the sound once again like a trickling summer brook. “Have no fear of me stealing it from you. I cannot take what you do not give, human. The artifact is yours and belongs to your family. Other Fae may try to trick it from you, so you are right to be wary, but I am not that type of Fae.”

  Étaín hadn’t realized Fae had different types, but she kept silent, still clutching her pouch and its precious contents.

  “If it makes you more comfortable, I will make a vow to you. You know Fae cannot tell a falsehood, correct?”

  Étaín nodded.

  “Then I vow to you I shall never take nor attempt to take your magical brooch.”

  Étaín breathed more easily and gave a weak smile.

  “Now can we speak of more important matters? You are not safe in this world just now, Étaín. Your cruel mate searches for you even now. He will come tomorrow to the village on the lough.”

  Her momentary ease fled, and Étaín couldn’t breathe. She swallowed, trying to make her body work normally again, but her chest seized, and she couldn’t draw in the air she needed. Flidaisínn placed a cool hand on her neck, just barely touching her skin, and she could inhale once again. After a few shaky breaths, Flidaisínn dropped her hand. “I see you still fear him. You are wise. I would take you to where he cannot harm you.”

  “There’s nowhere safe. He’s a very determined, methodical man.”

  “It is true, he would find you in the mortal world. But not if I take you to Faerie.”

  In the back of her mind, Étaín knew this to be the only solution. Yet she railed against the necessity, the danger, the terror of Faerie. All her long life she’d heard tales of humans being lured into Faerie against their wishes, only to return with deformities, missing limbs, or the inability to speak or to lie. Some humans never returned, or returned after two hundred winters, to find everyone they’d known and loved to be dead and turned to dust.

  Perhaps she needed to be exactly there. Her own loved ones seemed ephemeral to her, fading away among the long winters and tears.

  With resolved determination, she stood, hands on her hips. “Very well, then, Flidaisínn. What is the bargain you offer for taking me to Faerie?”

  The Fae woman placed her hands on Étaín’s shoulders. “I offer you a place to stay, for as long as you wish, safe from humankind and their cruelty, suspicion, and fear. I offer you an easy life without weather and pain.”

  Steeling herself, Étaín asked, “And what do you require in exchange for this sanctuary?”

  Flidaisínn peered into her eyes, cocking her head. For several moments, she stared at Étaín. In a tiny, almost meek voice, as if any Fae could ever be meek, she said, “I would like for you to be my friend.”

  Étaín’s heart skipped a beat at Flidaisínn’s simple answer. Her friend? Why would the Fae want a human friend?

  As if she had spoken the words aloud, Flidaisínn answered. “Because just like humans, Fae cannot trust other Fae to any great extent, Étaín. There are those among us who are heartlessly cruel, even by our standards. Even those who want to be kind, to have a generous nature, find it difficult to maintain within the Court.” Flidaisínn frowned, sh
aking her head. “I am perhaps closer to human than the pure Fae. I wish to be more like you. Other Fae see this as a failing, a disfigurement.”

  “What must I do to be your friend? Are there tasks to complete? A quest to fulfill?”

  The blue Fae laughed. “Not all the tales of us are true, Étaín. Sometimes we have a simple trade. Will you accept my friendship in exchange for safe passage to Faerie and a safe place to stay?”

  While she kept waiting for the other part of the bargain to spring up, Étaín slowly nodded. “I accept. Oh! But what of Bódonn?” Étaín looked around for the cow, but it had disappeared.

  Her twinkling laugh filled Étaín’s head. “Who do you think the cow was, Étaín? I had to determine if you acted kind when no one watched, did I not?”

  Fresh out of objections, Étaín nodded and took Flidaisínn’s hand. The raven who had guided her earlier alit on the Fae’s shoulder and cawed at her. Together, they walked around the stones and stopped at the widest gap.

  “Here is where we go into the stones. Are you ready, Étaín?”

  Quite certain she was not, in fact, ready, and never would be, Étaín nodded.

  “Place your hands on the stone here, and your forehead like this.” Flidaisínn demonstrated, and Étaín did the same. “Now, close your eyes, and I shall lead you through.”

  Earlier in the day, Étaín had been dazed. Now, however, she experienced a giddy light-headedness which made the prior illness seem steadfast and tame. If her eyes had been open, she imagined she’d be flying among the clouds, spinning in circles around and through each one, soaring and diving as the wind took her. She became a murmuration of starlings, swimming on the breeze, and a school of minnows riding the tide.

  Abruptly the flying sensation ceased, and Étaín sat on the ground. She opened her eyes to see where she was.

  The ancient stone circle had disappeared.

  Étaín sat on a rolling hillside, with thick, dark blue grass covering the ground. Trees loomed overhead, but such trees as she’d never seen. The trunks waved, but no breeze, no wind pushed the branches. In fact, no sun lit the sky, just a strange light emanating from all things, like a subdued glow across the land.