The older woman examined Étaín with sharp eyes for several moments. Étaín stood straight for the inspection, smiling pleasantly while trying not to shake. If this woman decided not to accept her, she’d have no place to go. She hoped she didn’t reek of desperation.
In a strong, but scratchy voice, Searlait said, “Hmm. Turn, child.”
Étaín turned around slowly, not daring to look at Searlait. She wanted to examine the fascinating sled contraption, but she didn’t dare.
“Are you strong, lass? Can you cook without poisoning someone? Are you willing to do weeding and planting?”
“Yes, yes, and yes. I love cooking, and I have a talent for gardening.”
Searlait pointed at one of the plants on the edge of the path. “What plant is that?”
Étaín flicked a glance at the bright purple buds. “Betony.”
“And that one?”
The tiny white flowers were easy to identify. “Wild garlic.”
“Hmm. Right. She’ll do, Flidaisínn. Find her a place in the servant’s roundhouse, and I’ll see to her training tomorrow. Tonight we’re too busy for the feast to have someone new underfoot. Off with you now, go! Síne? Síne! I’m ready to go. Síne! That lazy girl…”
The younger woman returned, definitely not hurrying, threw Étaín an annoyed glance, and pushed Searlait back toward the kitchens.
Flidaisínn led Étaín to a dormitory roundhouse with seven cots, each in its own alcove around the edge of the house. A central hearth held various implements and cooking tools. Quarters were close and definitely not private, but Étaín had seen worse. She settled into an empty space, and Flidaisínn sat next to her on the cot.
“You’ll be fine here. Searlait is tough but fair, and she’ll watch over you. Just work hard, and it will please her. Pay no attention to Síne’s manner. She’s a spoiled fosterling whom Searlait is trying to teach manners. It’s not working so well, but she’s determined.”
“A fosterling? To which household?”
With a shrug, Flidaisínn smiled. “I have no clue. You’re lucky I remembered the name of the local chieftain. He’s not a bad chief—minor noble, but effective enough. He keeps the old ways, despite his priest, which is why I can enter the ringfort so freely.”
“Does he?” Étaín looked around and saw, sheltered by the thatched eave of the roundhouse, a small dish of cheese and milk. “Ah, Adhna would be pleased.”
“I’ll be taking that back as a treat for him. He’ll need fortification after this.”
Étaín thought of her escape from Faerie and wondered if Adhna had come to any harm in distracting the queen or Ammatán.
“He’s fine, just tired. Still, he’ll be tickled you thought of him.”
Étaín held both of Flidaisínn’s hands in hers and smiled. “I will be careful and keep my place here. Is there anything else I can do to repay you for all your help? I surely wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you both.”
The Fae girl shook her head. “Just be kind to our people as you always have, Étaín. Though Adhna would never say no to a bit of cheese or honey left out for us on occasion. We can ask nothing more of you. Keep good care of your brooch. Creatures such as Ammatán should never get hold of it. It would be too much power for such as him. As the queen’s favorite, he’s already much too powerful.”
Étaín gulped, remembering the terrifying creature and her body’s betrayal, yearning for his surely deadly caress. His face drifted into view, smiling with feral desire.
Flidaisínn shook her by the shoulders. “Étaín! Étaín, don’t fall into the trap, do you understand me?”
“Yes, yes, of course, I am so sorry. I shall keep him from my mind.”
“There is great danger there. He can invade your dreams. Even there, you must deny him, do you understand?”
She nodded, unable to speak.
Flidaisínn stood, surveying the roundhouse. “It’s no palace, nor a cottage in Faerie, but it’s comfortable and warm enough for the coming winter. You should do well here, Étaín. Keep practicing what I taught you, but be wary, and keep your stone hidden. There are those who would burn you for existing, much less for practicing Fae magic.”
Bressel’s face flashed in her memory, as well as Airtre’s and, disturbingly, Maelan’s. She experienced a sudden sharp pang she would never see her grandson again in this life. Tears came unbidden to her eyes as Flidaisínn walked outside, fading from view before she had gone ten steps.
Étaín was alone once again. Completely alone. No family, no friends, not even an animal to care for. Yet she had a place to sleep, food to eat, and a roof over her head. She had landed in worse places over her life. Now she must build on what she had.
For several terrible moments, her doubts rushed in, followed by maniacal Fae laughter. Whether the Faerie Queen’s or Ammatán, she didn’t know, but it echoed in her mind until she clutched her temples and cried out in pain. Suddenly, the laughter disappeared, leaving her mind aching and empty. She took several deep breaths to regain her composure and sanity.
Étaín spent time arranging her small space, putting her clothing away and securing her brooch in a small pouch within her skirt. In this new place, she didn’t dare leave it where someone might find it.
* * *
It took little time to find a routine at Cathair Chonaill. Searlait gave clear instructions for her expectations and the consequences for laziness or ineptitude. Étaín didn’t have to work too hard to keep up with those expectations as she’d always been a diligent worker, and the garden became her delight.
Occasionally, the mad Fae laughter rung through her head, but she got better at tamping it down.
Her first task each day would be to weed the kitchen garden, collect any items which looked ripe or rotten, pruning, and then bring the day’s harvest to the storeroom. With prudent nudges of the Fae magic she learned from Flidaisínn and the hag-stone, Étaín encouraged the plants to thrive, and Searlait praised her talent. Searlait kept the keys to the locked room, but soon Étaín had earned trust enough to be allowed to hold copies of the keys.
In the afternoons, her tasks ran to harder physical labor, such as chopping, peeling, and other preparations for the evening meal. She didn’t have to serve or do any of the actual cooking, though she would love to try using some of the new spices. It would take time and work to rise in Searlait’s estimation and earn the respect of the other women.
The young lady who had pushed Searlait’s sled out to the garden turned out to be the old woman’s personal assistant. Síne was an attractive young woman, but her looks became marred by the permanent frown on her face, scowling at everyone all day.
Searlait was putatively the headwoman. However, since she couldn’t walk, Síne became her legs. The older woman directed while Síne walked, ran, lifted, packed, whatever physical labor needed to be done.
After several moons in her new place, Étaín stood from her morning’s labors, hand upon the small of her back to stretch the pain away. She heard and felt a satisfying crack as she arched, letting out a small moan of both pain and pleasure.
A voice behind her said, “You shouldn’t make sounds like that. If a man saw you acting so wantonly, he would be well within his rights to take you.”
Étaín recognized Síne’s whining voice without having to turn around. “I merely stretched my back, Síne. No harm was done, and I invited no advances. Besides, men avoid the kitchen garden; Searlait makes certain this is her domain alone.”
“Our domain. I am Searlait’s most trusted help, and her second in command.”
Étaín sighed. “I apologize for not including you.”
Síne sniffed and narrowed her eyes, apparently trying to decide if Étaín spoke with sarcasm or sincerity. Evidently, she decided in Étaín’s favor, for she nodded once and stalked off.
Étaín let her breath out. Síne seemed prickly and took every comment as a personal attack. A complaint to Searlait did little good, for, while the headwoman re
mained fair and even-handed in all other matters, she became blind when it came to Síne’s machinations. Every woman in the kitchen staff had learned to tread carefully around the younger woman.
Despite Síne, Étaín loved her new position. She had the freedom of the garden, and experimented with small bits of the new herbs, making dishes for the kitchen staff to devour. Étaín had garnered a reputation for an excellent cook already and had quickly moved up in Searlait’s estimation. She didn’t have to serve any man, and came and went as she pleased once she finished her duties for the evening. She’d walked along the road to the Faerie stones situated just north of the fort. The massive stone structure stood with two sides and a roof. It became a peaceful place as no one else came near. She could escape the hustle and bustle of the ringfort and treasure her solitude for hours.
The night fell clear and cool as Samhain had just passed. The leaves on the few trees around the fort had changed color and Étaín looked forward to watching the moon rise that evening. It should be full this night, and she always liked to greet the lady as she smiled upon the land.
As the high activity of supper wound down, Étaín glanced out the door of the kitchen roundhouse, checking to make sure the weather remained clear enough for her planned walk.
A snide voice interrupted her reverie. “Waiting for someone?”
Étaín turned to see Síne, hands on her hips, with a half-smile on her face. Étaín knew better than to rise to the younger woman’s bait.
“No, merely aching to be outside. It’s warm in here.”
Síne snorted. “Hmph. No one would want you anyhow. There are so many more attractive women around.” She fluffed her hair, though it had become sweaty and messy from the evening’s work.
Searlait remained in the main hall, supervising the remnants of the feast. The best response would be to say nothing to Síne’s taunt, so Étaín merely nodded and finished cleaning the cutting board.
“That new monk, for instance. Much too old for me, of course, but he’s still rather striking.”
Étaín had heard a new monk had freshly arrived this day, but she’d not had the chance to see him. The old priest had died two moons before, and they’d been without a priest or a monk for church services. The chief had traveled to Cenn-innis to request a new priest, but there hadn’t been one available right away. She didn’t even know the new monk’s name. She truly didn’t care.
Étaín dutifully attended all services. To do otherwise would be to arouse suspicion. However, ever since her time living in Faerie, she had lost all faith in the Christian God and his followers. She had seen true power in the hands of the Faerie Queen. The terrible memory of that audience made her shiver.
“I thought you said you were warm in here? Are you frightened? Hey, everyone! Étaín is frightened! What scares you, Étaín? Is it the new monk? Tomorrow’s feast day? Or maybe just someone showing you up for the pretender you are?”
Searlait’s imperious voice cut through the giggling Síne’s words had engendered. “Enough chatter, Síne. Finish your duties.”
With a sly grin, Síne bowed to Searlait. “Of course, mistress! I had almost finished, but Étaín pestered me with questions and distracted me from my work.”
Étaín rolled her eyes but bent to finish her own tasks. The sooner she escaped the poisonous atmosphere Síne created, the better. Luckily the night still looked clear.
When she finally escaped the sweltering heat of the kitchen, she gasped in the cool evening air. The sun had long set, but the moon had yet to rise. She noticed a faint glow on the horizon, so it shouldn’t be long.
After grabbing her small bag with food and ale, her cloak, and a hand lantern, Étaín climbed carefully down the wide ramparts from the east gate and turned on the north path. She took the short path to the dolmen and climbed upon the table-shaped rock. She arranged herself to watch the moon rise.
This became a special moment and hers alone. She didn’t care who lived in the world, who loved her or whom she loved. Right now, the moment mattered. Her and her beloved, ancient friend, the moon.
The White Lady almost crested the horizon, a sliver of amber light peeking above the low rocky hills. There! The light of the huge moon burned a sullen orange. It bathed the land in a ruddy glow and created false shadows on all the rocks. The landscape became a surreal dance of Faerie creatures, and Étaín understood why stories of supernatural creatures came of such nights.
She courted Fae contact by perching on a Faerie stone in the night, but she knew better than to fall asleep on such a thing, or to be here during a fire feast such as Samhain. That late autumn festival had been several nights ago, so the stones should be safe now. She had more to fear than most by going back to Faerie. Echoes of mad laughter tripped across the silent stones, bouncing against the moonlight. She shivered again, and it had nothing to do with the chill winter breeze.
How many nights had she stared at the moon in her life? A thousand? Twenty thousand? Étaín had no way of knowing. The moon became one of the few constants in her life, one of the few things that always changed but remained the same. A magical contradiction, a paradox of change and eternal steadfastness. She came home to the moon in a way she never felt with a person, not even those she loved. Human love would always be a fleeting thing, as fleeting as life itself, but the moon lived forever. The moon quieted the crazed laughter in her mind.
The thought of human love and life made Étaín think of her sweet, dear Maelan. He would be older now. Perhaps he’d married and had children of his own now. She hoped he’d realized his dream and had become a warrior to a mighty chieftain. Perhaps she’d make some discreet inquiries of the monk to find out what happened to him. She mustn’t contact him—that would be madness. However, she might find out if he still lived.
She chuckled to herself. Such were moon-dreams. Full of possibility and hope with little grounding in reality.
* * *
Searlait let Étaín taste the mutton stew. “What do you think? Your palate is younger than mine. I can barely taste a thing these days.”
While she swished the broth in her mouth, Étaín considered. “It’s a little too salty. Perhaps add something sweet to cut the salt? Or add a couple turnips to soak it up. Why did you add so much salt? And there’s more than just mutton in here, isn’t there?”
The older woman rolled her eyes. “I didn’t. One of the younger girls dumped a bunch of chopped sorrel into it before I could stop her. I tried to fish it out, but it’s hopelessly mixed. Yes, I added some duck left over from last night’s feast.”
Étaín grimaced. “That would do it, all right. Some turnips might help. Maybe some radishes, which would add a nice bite. Or pine nuts?”
“It would add crunch and an earthy flavor. I’ll try it and add raisins for sweetness. Here, what about the roast? Too much garlic?”
Étaín grinned. “Is there such a thing as too much garlic?”
Both women were laughing when Síne walked in. Étaín shut her mouth quickly, but Searlait still chuckled. “Yes, Síne? What do you want?”
With a scowl at Étaín, Síne crossed her arms. “The monk is asking for stirabout with nutmeal and milk.”
Searlait raised her eyebrows. “I’ve not made such a thing for nigh unto a decade. Why won’t these men of God drink ale like everyone else?”
Étaín kept her mouth shut. Except for his mourning day, Airtre had preferred ale. Still, monks commonly preferred the thick, sticky milk and grain drink. She knew how to make it, and set about the preparations without being asked.
Searlait glanced at Étaín’s preparations. “Thank you, Síne. I’ll send it in to him when it’s ready.”
This earned Étaín another scowl from Síne before the younger woman swirled around and stalked away.
When she had made the warm porridge-like drink, Étaín strode from the kitchen roundhouse and instantly retreated. The winter wind had arrived with a vengeance, and she skipped back in to retrieve her cloak. Properly
bundled, she hugged the container close and put her hood up to keep the wind from whipping her face.
She made the long trudge across the enormous ringfort. The monk’s quarters stood on the other side, and she slipped thrice on icy flagstones. She had to use her magic several times to turn back just a few seconds to keep herself from falling. She detested using her talent so profligately, but she didn’t care to fall into an icy mud puddle this day. Luckily, the illness that followed the use of her magic had lessened since she’d lived in Faerie.
A sharp knock on the monk’s roundhouse door resulted in a near-instant opening. She quickly entered the structure to escape the wind and unwrapped her cloak.
When she turned around to hang it up, she dropped it. If she hadn’t had a death grip on the jug of stirabout, she’d have dropped it, as well.
For her, it had only seemed like a few moons. The transformation both disturbed and shocked her. Dressed in a simple unbleached léine, with his tonsured hair gray, she couldn’t mistake Odhar’s face.
For his part, Odhar looked as if he’d seen a ghost, and perhaps he thought that’s exactly what he saw. He opened his mouth and closed it again without saying a thing. He blinked several times before cocking his head and, in an incredulous whisper, said, “Étaín?”
She straightened her spine and shifted the jug of stirabout. “Yes, Odhar. Étaín.”
Étaín had no idea what to tell him. This couldn’t happen. This could never happen. Seeing someone from a former life inevitably turned disastrous. She glanced at the roundhouse door, gauging how quickly she might escape should he call her some creature of evil.
Odhar continued to stare at her, his mouth now permanently agape.
She reached down and carefully retrieved her cloak, not taking her eyes from the now older monk. He blinked again and bent to retrieve it before she had a chance. He handed it to her and said, “I never thought I’d see you again, Étaín. In fact, I can’t believe what I see now. How could you be younger?”
Misfortune of Time Page 19
