Misfortune of Time

by Christy Nicholas

  Étaín stood to see better, turning in a full circle, looking around. Something bright sat far along the horizon, but next to her, a gentle path wound through the undulating hills and the odd trees with leaves of outrageous colors. Blues, purples, reds, and greens colored each branch with no two leaves shaped the same.

  The wooziness returned when she stood, and she swayed a few times before Flidaisínn took her hand and steadied her. “Fear not, Étaín. I know where we are and will take you to my home. There you can rest for as long as you like.”

  Étaín prayed the Fae told the truth.

  It might have been minutes later or several hours. Étaín had no way to judge time in this place. The landscape didn’t move like it should. Creatures flitted on the edge of her vision, but whenever she turned to examine them, they disappeared or hid in the strange foliage.

  After realizing she hadn’t eaten in a while, Étaín reached into her sack and pulled out some dried fish. She offered the fish to Flidaisínn, who declined. “I shall offer you a welcoming feast at my house. Adhna will have it ready.”

  Suddenly the fish looked disgusting, and she placed it back in her bag. She had a sudden thought. “Flidaisínn, if you were the cow, then when I milked you…”

  “You drank of my milk, Étaín. I kept your illness at bay, as much as I could in your mortal world. My power is greatly diminished there.” The Fae grinned, a sparkle in her crinkled eyes. “It rather tickled.”

  “And the woman who gifted you to me? Is she also Fae?”

  Flidaisínn shook her head. “Not as you understand it. She is a Greater Creature. You might know her as the Cailleach.”

  Étaín’s legs stopped working. Her knees buckled, and she knelt abruptly in the grass. The Cailleach? She had spoken to the Cailleach?

  The Cailleach was a goddess, with no mistake. The Cailleach is the Hag Goddess, the Queen of the Winter, the Mistress of Storms. She created the mountains, valleys, and pathways of the world. She commanded the weather and wielded a staff that froze the water with a touch. It explained the stones in her sack. Legend held she scattered the stones to serve as steps across the land, and thus formed the hills.

  Étaín shivered. She had spoken with a goddess. A true goddess. She had bargained with a goddess. Étaín broke out in a cold sweat when she realized just how close she’d come to being rude to the old woman. What would have happened if she’d snapped at her? No amount of Faerie magic in her ancient brooch would have shielded her from the power of an enraged goddess, nor protect her from a vengeful one.

  “Come, Étaín. You passed her test well, and you were rewarded. See? This is your reward. Your own cottage next to mine.”

  The adage about things being too good to be true instantly flitted through Étaín’s mind, but she couldn’t deny the beauty of the place.

  Three adorable roundhouses with cheery glows stood around a central pond. Orange ducks swam in the pond, one of them quacking at her as she passed. “Three cottages? Who is the third for? This Adhna you mentioned?”

  Flidaisínn gestured toward the center roundhouse. “Adhna is my other friend, the only other person in Faerie I can truly trust. He is old and crotchety and bound to forget things.”

  A querulous voice drifted from inside. “I heard you, youngling! And I’ve forgotten more in my long winters than you’ve ever learned. Come in, come in. The food is waiting.”

  Étaín didn’t realize Fae aged, but this one appeared absolutely ancient. His long white, braided beard almost brushed his knees, and the wrinkles upon wrinkles were like a sea in a storm. He made a rude noise and sat on a stool. “Come, now! Eat, child. The food won’t wait for long.” He popped a morsel of unidentifiable fruit into his mouth and chewed with his eyes closed. He grunted in decadent pleasure.

  Étaín glanced at Flidaisínn, but the Fae girl already dipped a chunk of yellow cheese into dark honey.

  Most tales said food consumed in Faerie doomed you to remain there forever. While Étaín became grateful for a place to hide from Airtre, she didn’t want to seal her fate so indelibly. Adhna must have noticed her apprehension.

  “No, child, we can’t keep you here forever with this. That’s a silly rumor started by those who know nothing better. Perhaps they are upset because the loves of their lives chose to remain with us rather than return? I don’t know why. The food here is safe to eat. You may return to the human world whenever you desire. I vow this upon my honor.”

  The air shimmered with his words as if they had the power of géis. Perhaps they did. A géis couldn’t be broken without serious consequences. Her instincts told her to trust this odd, old Faerie man, and she plucked a piece of fruit from the table. It looked like an apple, but with purple flesh, pink skin, and spots. When she bit into the soft flesh, honeyed juice dribbled down her chin. With greedy fingers, she mopped it up and licked the juice. It tasted sweeter than any fruit she’d ever eaten.

  Later, much later, she lay in her own roundhouse, replete with food and drink, snuggled into warm furs. The cot felt as soft as clouds, and she had everything she might need. A lovely bronze mirror, better than the ancient one she’d left in Cluain Mhic Nóis, fantastic clothing in outrageous colors which weighed nothing, and whatever food and drink she craved.

  Adhna had shown her how to request what she wanted, ritual words which would make the food appear on her table. “Unfortunately, though, we can only request natural foods. Honey, cheese, ale, wine, bread—these are made by humans, and therefore we must trade for them. Fruit, vegetables, nuts, meats, and mushrooms are easily found.”

  Étaín would miss honey. There had been honey and cheese at the welcome feast, but those had been quickly eaten by Adhna and Flidaisínn. Adhna admitted to having a particular fondness for cheese.

  With half-formed thoughts running through her mind, Étaín slept easily for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime.

  * * *

  After Étaín’s struggles to keep her magic a secret over so many winters, so many families, the relief from the toil felt heady like the sweetest wine. No longer did she have to work each morning to age her face, her hair, her skin. No longer did she have to feign frailty or obedience. No longer did she have to second-guess her husband’s uncertain temper or reasoning to avoid a blow. For once in her life, she broke free of life’s burdens.

  Adhna acted odd, with no doubt, but he was quite sweet. He spoke to the strange creatures who lived in this land, and sometimes they reacted as if they understood him perfectly. One was the raven who had led her to the stone circle. He called the raven Tawnith, and the creature did his bidding readily enough. Sometimes Étaín swore she heard the bird answer his questions, but then she chided herself for foolish fancies.

  Flidaisínn turned out to be a marvelous friend and companion. Étaín had seldom had a female friend, one she could trust and speak to. The first woman she’d lived with besides her foster-sisters had been her first husband’s grown daughter. His daughter had been her own age and resented her with vicious jealousy. They fought often during the first season, and Étaín lost each battle. Étaín’s husband always believed his daughter over his young, new wife, and would beat her until she agreed. It didn’t take many beatings before Étaín stopped arguing altogether.

  After a full fortnight of resting, Étaín watched out the front door of her roundhouse. Small creatures much like butterflies, but with sparkling dots of lights on their wings, flitted across the pond with zipping speed.

  Flidaisínn had shown her some other areas of Faerie, including a deep lake with what Étaín could only call monsters living beneath the surface. This area of Faerie had many different trees, low slung along the ground. The lake definitely had a more sinister demeanor. It proved to her she could only drop her guard when she remained at her new home.

  The non-butterflies disappeared instantly, and Étaín stood, trying to discover the reason. All these new puzzles fascinated her. She’d grown heartily bored of doing nothing all day and craved purpose
. She thought briefly of the fascinating discussions she’d had with Odhar, and experienced a flash of nostalgia for him, his ready smile, and his keen intellect.

  Adhna strode into the clearing and Étaín sat back with a sigh. Surely that’s why the non-butterflies had fled. He usually brought Tawnith, and the raven would snap at the insects, even if he rarely caught any.

  He had no raven with him now, though, and carried an enormous bundle upon his back. She stood back up and went to help him with the burden.

  “Oh, hello, child! I thought you’d still be abed. It’s but early yet.”

  “How can you tell? There is no morning here, no dusk, no dark of night. Just the constant glow of whatever it is makes the light.”

  He tapped his head with a wry smile. “I know, child, I know. After centuries of human time, I’ve learned to know. You will learn eventually.”

  She tried to help him with his sack, but he shrugged her off. “I’m as fit as you, if not more so, Étaín! Leave off, there’s a good girl.”

  Frustrated, she sat on the ground, legs crossed, and pouted. She knew she acted like a brat, but she needed something to do.

  Flidaisínn popped her head out of her home and, seeing them both, chuckled. “Are you both arguing already? It’s early for such things. Étaín? What’s wrong, child?” Her friend rushed to her side, an arm around her shoulders. Flidaisínn’s skin was damp and cool, not like human skin at all. Étaín still hadn’t got used to it.

  “I need something to work on, Flidaisínn. I’m unused to being idle. This is driving me to distraction!” She stood, pacing back and forth while both Fae watched her with cocked heads. “I have lived my entire life with tasks, duties, responsibilities. With none, I’m adrift and useless. There must be something I can do to help, to heal, to create, anything!”

  Adhna scratched his beard, dislodging a small non-butterfly. It flitted away into the swaying bushes. “Perhaps we could teach her to cook. I’d love her to make some cheese!”

  Étaín rolled her eyes. “I’m already quite good at cooking, and I could make you plenty of cheese. All I need is the milk and some equipment. I told you that before, didn’t I?”

  Flidaisínn patted her on the shoulder. “You did, child, you did. But Adhna is well aware how difficult it is to get true milk in Faerie. Aren’t you, Adhna?”

  The older Fae grunted and flapped his hand at the two women. “Yes, yes, yes. I know all that. Still, a bit of cheese would be nice.”

  Flidaisínn crossed her arms. “Perhaps we could teach her to dance?”

  “Dance? I can dance as well. Can you not teach me something useful?”

  Adhna narrowed his eyes. “Human child, a true dance is more useful than the biggest cow could ever be. A true dance can call the beauty of the Otherworld into the mortal world and make a man forget all his woes. A true dance can beguile the mind and sweeten the soul.”

  With a shake of her head, Flidaisínn laughed. “And such a dance is past the abilities of any mere human, Adhna. Be practical, there’s a good Fae.”

  After several more impractical suggestions, Adhna and Flidaisínn determined Étaín might learn true magic, over and above the power granted by the brooch.

  Adhna stroked his beard, picking imagined bits from it and tossing them aside. “I’ve lived longer than you, Flidaisínn. I can teach her more.”

  Flidaisínn laughed. “But I have more patience than you, Adhna. I won’t lose my temper at every question.”

  “Hmm. Hmm. True enough, true enough. Very well. Perhaps if we work out a plan of lessons, I can step in when they get too advanced for you?”

  Flidaisínn put her hands on her hips. “Too advanced? Adhna, you’ve got quite the inflated view of your own abilities. I’m your own student, remember? I’ve learned from you for centuries.”

  “Ah, but I learned from my own master for centuries before that. Even before the dead God came to this island with his sycophant priests. Come now, wouldn’t the child prefer to be taught by the master rather than the apprentice?”

  After throwing her hands in the air, Étaín shook her head. “I am not part of this discussion. Please, work it out between yourselves. I simply need to do something. I’m going stir-crazy in this place. It’s too much of a paradise for me. I need to be useful.”

  Adhna grinned. “If you want to be useful, make honey or cheese!”

  Étaín crossed her arms and glared at the old Fae. “If you can find me Faerie bees, I’d be happy to! Your beasts won’t make real milk. I’d have to return to the other world to get it.”

  “Hmph. Details, details. You would think a human would be more resourceful than that.”

  She chuckled at the old man. “And you would think someone who loves cheese as much as you would have found a solution in how many centuries?”

  He made a rude noise and turned to Flidaisínn. “What sort of lessons should we start with? Maybe teach her to transform into a mighty stag?” He placed his hands on the back of his head, fingers up like antlers, and moaned horribly. He sounded exactly like a stag in rut, and Étaín giggled.

  Flidaisínn crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Transformation? You want to teach a human transformation, and as her first magic lesson? You’re madder than Ammatán if you think that’s either wise or feasible, auld one.”

  Adhna’s face turned dusky, and he narrowed his eyes. The surrounding air darkened like the sky before a storm. “Don’t group me with that one, Flidaisínn. Not even in jest. I realize he’s your sibling, but he’s perfidious.”

  Flidaisínn closed her eyes. “I’m well aware of that, Adhna. I’ll not do so in the future.”

  He nodded. “Yes, well then. If not transformation, then perhaps we can teach her to fly upon the wind?”

  It sounded quite lovely to Étaín, and she clapped her hands in delighted anticipation, but Flidaisínn pursed her lips. “Try again.”

  “Hmm. Ah, I know! Talk to the animals.”

  Flidaisínn considered this, but then shook her head. “Such magic only works on Fae creatures. She’d never be able to use it in the human world.”

  He crossed his arms and sat on the ground. “Why should she want to use it in the human world? It’s a skill worth having for its own sake.”

  Flidaisínn glanced at Étaín, who busied herself with scouring out a dish from the morning meal. “I believe Étaín wouldn’t be satisfied with knowledge for knowledge’s sake. She would prefer something practical, something she might use. Is that not true, Étaín?”

  Étaín smiled, glancing up as if she hadn’t listened intently to every word. “You already know me well, Flidaisínn.”

  A non-butterfly alit on Adhna’s head, and then another. Soon he had five of the insects, making it look as if he had on a strange hat. “Well, then. Something practical. I know! A glamor!”

  Flidaisínn narrowed her eyes. “She can already do a glamor. She can make herself appear older.”

  “Ah, but a Faerie glamor isn’t as exhausting as her power. She might make herself look like another person.”

  Étaín held her breath. This would be an incredibly handy trick, especially for someone who needed to disappear often.

  “Maybe, maybe. That is if she has an affinity for it. What do you think, Étaín?”

  “It would be a useful thing, Flidaisínn. I would like to try.”

  Many hours later, sitting cross-legged by the pond, Étaín tried to shut out the sound of the water lapping, the zipping insects, the perfumed breeze, and the occasional caw from Tawnith. She squinted and pursed her lips, concentrating as Flidaisínn had told her, humming the tune she’d been taught. After several moments, she cracked one eye open and looked at the bronze mirror.

  Nothing.

  “Stones and crows! I just can’t get this, Flidaisínn. What is wrong with me?”

  Flidaisínn patted her on the shoulder. “Nothing is wrong with you, Étaín. For a human. Today is your first time; you need patience. Try again.”

  Éta
ín let out a deep breath. She needed to curse, yell, stomp around and smash things, but instead, she closed her eyes and tried again.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. Hum the lovely, tinkling tune. She didn’t have Flidaisínn’s naturally musical voice, but her singing became passable. Her belly grew warm, and her skin prickled. When she opened her eyes… still nothing.

  “Giant stones and giant crows!”

  “Perhaps you don’t have the gift for this magic.”

  “But I can use the brooch’s magic to change my appearance! Shouldn’t this work the same way?”

  “Not necessarily. If everything worked logically the same way, anyone could do it. Faerie magic is all different. Some require song, like this one. Others require ingredients. Still, others require gestures or actions. Your brooch, for instance; do you know where it came from?”

  Étaín shrugged. “All I know is my mother said a druid gifted it to our family for saving him from death. That had been long, long ago. If she knew any other details, she never told me. Would you like to examine it? I can fetch it.”

  The other woman put out both her hands. “Oh, no, please don’t. It wouldn’t be safe for a Fae to handle, especially in Faerie. It might damage the magic connection to your family.”

  Étaín blinked several times. Even with the different lessons in magic she’d so far received, this made no sense to her.

  “However,” Flidaisínn continued, “I can tell you one thing. No druid enchanted the piece. The magic is definitely Fae. If a druid gifted it to your ancestor, he got it from a Fae.”

  Intrigued, Étaín asked, “Which Fae? Can you tell?”

  “No, there’s no way I can tell. Nor anyone else, at this point. The signature of the magic is long since faded beyond recognition. That alone tells me the magic had been created many human centuries ago, perhaps six or seven hundreds of your winters in the past. For humans, this is a long time.”

  Étaín grinned. “Yes, I’m aware of how long it is for humans.”