Misfortune of Time

by Christy Nicholas

  Étaín woke in a cold sweat, panting and fearful she’d cried out. No one else in the roundhouse stirred, though, so she must have been silent.

  She couldn’t trust herself to fall asleep again, not with that terror awaiting her. She pulled on her cloak and walked outside, seeking the cool, clear air of the night.

  Dawn hadn’t yet broken, but the pale light in the east heralded its imminent arrival. She’d at least be able to get a head start on some chores. When she entered the kitchen, however, she discovered others.

  Often, the baker woman arrived before the first light, kneading dough to bake before the morning meal. However, instead of the baker, she spied a writhing lump. At first, Étaín thought one of the spit hounds had gotten in, but when it moaned, she peered at the form more closely. She recognized Síne, and the spiteful woman didn’t moan alone. Half-covered in a red cloak in front of the sullen hearth, Étaín glimpsed the chief’s son with his bare legs entangled in hers.

  Síne saw her and Étaín stopped, stunned with no idea what to do. Síne had no such restrictions.

  Snatching up the cloak to cover her own naked breasts, Síne squeaked and pointed an accusatory finger at Étaín. “How dare you sneak in here, spying on us! Get out, you wicked woman! Out!”

  Confused, Étaín backed up several steps. “I didn’t spy on anyone! I couldn’t sleep…”

  The other woman systematically got dressed, shooing the young man out of the room. “You were following me! You’ve always hated me, and now you’re trying to get me in trouble! I’m sure you’ll scuttle off to Searlait with some half-baked story of me in a compromising position.”

  Étaín stared at the woman. Was she completely deranged? Did she live in a different reality from the rest of the world? Backing up a few more steps, Étaín stumbled over some pots, sending one crashing to the floor.

  “Now look what you’ve done! Are you so obsessed you must destroy the kitchen?”

  Étaín blinked several times and ran out of the kitchen roundhouse. She had no desire to be anywhere near Síne any longer. It didn’t matter how fair Searlait would be or how good Étaín’s position had been. That woman poisoned everything she touched and seemed determined to take her madness out on Étaín.

  While she rarely acted so precipitously when she had a family, Étaín had no ties here at the moment. She might leave at a moment’s notice.

  As a matter of fact, she had just received an offer to do so the day before.

  With deliberate steps, she returned to her roundhouse and packed her few belongings. Étaín had carefully gathered several pouches of herbs, with Searlait’s permission, for her own remedies and uses. More clothing, more tools, and implements, more utensils. She even had some baubles and jewelry besides her brooch, easy, portable ways of hoarding wealth.

  Now she also had a guardian, someone who would help her while traveling.

  Étaín’s long life had taught her women alone in the world were in danger. While some might be protected by fathers, husbands, sons, or a larger family, a lone woman became prey for anyone stronger to come along. The predator may only want her body, or her wealth, or even her innocence. The purpose made no matter. The lack of safety mattered. Étaín realized this would never change in this world unless the basic acceptance of man’s more bestial needs were countered by societal change.

  While she experienced a sharp pang of guilt for using Odhar’s affection as a shield against the world, she comforted herself in the knowledge he would come anyway. She’d make certain he knew she didn’t love him and give him the choice. There were men who would do anything for the women they loved and those who only loved themselves. Odhar had been the former, many years before. Étaín hoped he remained so.

  Her belongings now packed, she glanced at the sky. The light grew brighter now, and the first rays of peach-colored light streaked across the cloudless sky. Today would be a good day for traveling, if chilly.

  There were few people about as she stalked across the courtyard to Odhar’s roundhouse. Only a faint snore broke the silence. She briefly considered waiting until the monk stirred, but she daren’t wait. At any moment, Sine might go to Searlait with some concocted tale of perfidy and jealousy. Whether or not Searlait believed Síne’s poison tale, Étaín had no stomach to defend herself again.

  She knocked on the door, timidly at first. Her eagerness to depart warred with her uncertainty of Odhar’s commitment. When her first attempt yielded no results, she tried again, louder this time. A groan inside gave her impetus to try a third knock, yet louder.

  A crash and a grumble meant he had woken. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Could you not have the decency to wait until the sun rose?”

  He opened the door, his fringe of hair sticking up like a gray halo around the edge of his head. His eyes were bleary and gummy and blinked several times as if not believing the sight before him. Étaín fought the urge to laugh.

  “Étaín? Is this you or did I drink too much mead last night? And you’re carrying a pack?”

  Suddenly, she nestled into his warm, soft embrace. They clung tightly for several moments, and she fought the tears which threatened to burst forth. She mustn’t cry, not now, not yet. Not until she had escaped from Síne’s venom.

  He bustled her inside, taking her pack. “I won’t ask what changed your mind, but I will thank God for your change of heart. From your manner, I gather you want to leave quickly?”

  “We must, right away. Within the hour, if we can. I realize this is an incredible imposition…”

  He shook his head. “I meant it, Étaín. Whatever you wish, you shall have. It is my distinct honor and delight to make whatever you desire come true.”

  She flashed him a smile full of gratitude, and he laughed. “Stop doing that, Étaín.”

  Étaín glanced around. She’d simply been standing still. “Stop doing what?”

  “Stop smiling like that at me. It takes my breath away, and I must save my breath for the journey.”

  She pursed her lips and shook her head. “I must tell you one thing before we leave. Feel free to change your mind when I tell you.”

  “Nothing you say would…”

  She put her hands up. “Shush, Odhar, and listen to me. Dramatic gestures aside, I want you to realize that, in my many lifetimes, I’ve only loved a few men, truly loved them. I know the difference between love, lust, affection, and respect. Though it pains my heart to tell you, while I respect you greatly and enjoy your company, I don’t love you in that way.”

  She tensed, waiting for his explosive rebuttal, anger, or disbelief.

  He took a deep breath. “That’s fair of you to say, Étaín. May I ask if you’ve ever grown to love someone you didn’t love at first?”

  His eyes appeared so forlorn, belying his calm question. “A reasonable question. Yes, Odhar. Sometimes it has happened. Not often, but sometimes.”

  Odhar wrapped his arms around her waist and swung her around with vigor. “Then all is not lost! I shall work hard to earn your love, Étaín, even if it takes the rest of my lifetime.”

  His hands tickled her waist, and she struggled to get down. “Odhar! Put me down! Please!”

  With apologetic grace, he obeyed, and they stared at each other for several moments before they both burst out laughing. It felt good to laugh like this, without reservation or fear. She didn’t get nearly enough laughter in her life. Perhaps Odhar would be better for her than she knew.

  “If I can’t make you love me, at least I can make you laugh. When you laugh, the heat and light in your eyes warms my soul. Now give me a few moments to collect my own things, and we’ll make our escape. Do you have a plan?”

  She took a deep breath and watched him methodically pack his few belongings before she answered. “We need to go to Ceann-Coradh. I must see Maelan.”

  They exited his roundhouse into a ring of waiting people.

  * * *

  At first, Étaín recognized only one face. She couldn’t miss Síne’s se
lf-satisfied smirk, even in the pink dawn light. Some of the other women from the kitchen glared at her, hands crossed in disapproval. Étaín scanned the crowd for Searlait’s sled, but didn’t see the headwoman.

  The one man in the group, standing tall with a multi-colored cloak, spoke. “What is this?”

  Odhar opened his mouth and shut it before he could answer. “M-my chief! I didn’t realize you were up so early. Did we wake you?”

  Her skin prickled with danger and chill. Síne had fetched the chief of Cathair Chonaill, the Ua Lochlainn. He stood with his arms crossed and glared at them both. Without answering Odhar, he glanced at his seneschal.

  Étaín had never spoken to the chief. She worked in the kitchens and, as a stranger from another place, she had no status until she earned her own. Thus, she’d had no reason to speak directly with the chief.

  The prospect made goosebumps rise on her skin, which had nothing to do with the chill in the dawn air.

  The seneschal stepped forward. “Odhar, monk of Cluain Mhic Nóis, you are contracted to attend my chief for a period no less than three winters, as per the details set forth by your abbot. You have, so far this morning, attended upon him for a total of three days. You appear to be packed to leave this fort. Please explain.”

  Odhar glanced at Étaín with wide eyes, and she experienced a wave of fresh guilt. How could she ask this man, whom she truly barely knew any longer, to jeopardize his life to save her own?

  Before he could speak, she stepped forward, her head bowed. “My chief, his actions were in response to my own pleas for help. It is urgent that I leave to find my grandson, and I begged his help, as he knows where my grandson currently lives.”

  The chief’s voice boomed across the hushed courtyard. “Why did you not seek my permission for this journey?”

  She gulped. “If it pleases you, my chief, I did not consider the monk’s prior duties. I must beg your forgiveness for my transgression.”

  Not daring to raise her head, she kept her eyes fixed on the ground. A soft drizzle darkened the dirt at her feet while the silent minutes grew louder. Someone coughed in the group of on-lookers, and someone else giggled. Étaín decided it must have been Síne who laughed, as it had a wicked edge.

  The shuffle of cloth and splashing footsteps still didn’t make her glance up. Finally, Odhar spoke. “They’re gone, Étaín.”

  Her neck hurt from holding her pose with such tension, but when she glanced around, she saw the truth. They stood alone in the muddy courtyard.

  “The chief nodded once to me and left, with everyone trailing after him like baby ducks. Evidently, we have leave to go on our mission.”

  “Did Síne look upset?”

  “Síne? Oh, the pinch-faced lass? She didn’t look best pleased, certainly. She seemed as if someone had stuffed sour whey in her mouth.”

  Étaín laughed, and the release of tension made her giddy and free. “Aye, that’s the one. Good.”

  PART VI

  Chapter 12

  Ceann-Coradh, winter, 1073AD

  The ringfort looked smaller than Étaín had expected. After the grandeur of Cathair Chonaill, this place seemed a disappointment. She’d hoped Maelan would succeed, but wondered how he’d adapted to this smaller community. Why would a clan chief choose such a place for its administrative seat? It made little sense.

  Odhar shook his head. “I still don’t think this is a wise idea, Étaín. Didn’t you tell me stories of how past encounters with your children inevitably led to disaster? Why should you risk that again? What is so urgent you must confront Maelan?”

  She’d been reluctant to tell him of her mission. She must yet keep her secret a while longer.

  It had taken her some time to puzzle out the reason for her reluctance, but finally, she realized its source. If she gave the brooch to Maelan, if he would even take the pagan magic, she would lose the magic. It meant she would age. Perhaps it would take a true lifetime, and she might live out that lifetime with Odhar in peace and affection. Perhaps it would be instant. She might crumble into a pile of ashes the moment she passed the magic to her grandson.

  Many tales told of such magic, such as the Children of Lir, who remained cursed as swans for nine hundred winters, only to age instantly upon the end of their curse. Or the tale of Oisín and Niamh, where Niamh brings her lover to Tír na nÓg, but he wishes to return home. He’s warned not to touch the ground, but he does, turning instantly to ash as three hundred winters have passed.

  She had no wish to die in such a way, but Adhna had been insistent she must pass on her magic. Perhaps it meant he foresaw her death in another manner. At least she’d spare Odhar the worry of her knowledge.

  Étaín may not be in love with Odhar, but she liked him and cared for him. The few days they’d traveled together to find Maelan had been some of the sweetest in her memory. He’d been witty, solicitous, and clever. It made her feel like a young girl, giddy and silly.

  Perhaps, given time, she would fall in love with him.

  She mustn’t think of that now, though. At the moment, they must concentrate on finding Maelan.

  Odhar turned to her and placed his hands on her cheeks. “Let me find him. I’ll bring him out to talk to you, I promise, but it’s too dangerous to risk him seeing you for the first time in public. If he recognizes you, he might panic. He might denounce you as a witch, a daemon, or a Fae.”

  His words made sense. Despite her longing to see her grandson, his logic remained sound. “Let’s find a safe place for the encounter before you search. Someplace I can wait for you both, someplace away from the public eye.”

  “Good idea.”

  They searched for a little while in the village below the ringfort, but while a guest roundhouse existed, it stood right next to the front gates, and therefore public. Instead, after several forays into the nearby forest, they found a small cave.

  The cave seemed small from the outside, but the cavern opened big enough for five or six adults to stand comfortably. A low area in the back will serve as a sleeping place if need be. Étaín arranged herself for a long wait while Odhar went to the ringfort in search of her grandson, bundled in several fur cloaks for warmth.

  Would he remember her after all these winters? He hadn’t seen her since he’d been eleven winters old, and she’d disappeared in the night without even saying farewell. Perhaps he harbored a burning resentment toward her. He might hate her with all his heart. He’d been such a sweet boy; surely his affection had triumphed over anger.

  Odhar had left mid-morning. By the time the short winter day faded, he still hadn’t returned. She grew worried he got lost trying to find the cave again, or that he’d fallen and injured himself in the forest. He’d seen almost fifty winters, and a fall might be fatal in the cold of winter.

  Étaín gripped the furs more tightly around her shoulders and peered out into the velvet gloom. She could only see the hillside and bare pine trees, gritty snow, and jutting rocks. Her breath formed clouds as she paced further and further from the cave mouth in nervous frustration. When would he return? There wasn’t enough room to pace properly.

  What if he decided she wasn’t worth all this trouble after all? In reality, Odhar had bared his heart and soul to her, and what did she do? Take him on a madcap mission without even revealing the true reason behind it, a mission full of folly. Étaín wouldn’t blame him if he’d kept walking.

  Even if he persevered and brought her grandson back to the cave, what then? Would Maelan believe her to be his grandmother? He’d been sweet, yes, but also stubborn. His streak of righteous piety shone through his kindness, even as a child. What if his piety burst forth in a frenzy of hate when he realized she had provable magic?

  Her feet ached from pacing, and her joints ached from the chill air. Darkness had fallen, and she stared into the night, trying to conjure up either Odhar or Maelan or both. It did her no good. Her eyes drifted close as she hummed to herself, trying to pass the time.

  An owl hooted an
d made her jump. Had that been the echo of laughter? Had she been dozing? She had no idea how many hours had passed. She saw no sign of either man. She’d grown cold sitting on the cave floor, and she shivered violently. In hindsight, it might have been wise to light a fire, but a fire would be seen by someone in the village or ringfort, prompting an investigation. That’s exactly what they didn’t want.

  Étaín stood and paced again, trying to warm her blood.

  A rustling in the trees caught her attention, and she froze. Did Odhar return? Étaín scanned the small circle of moonlit ground, trying to determine where the sound had come from. A muffled curse and a snapping branch assured her of a human source, but she still saw no one.

  Suddenly a figure burst through the thorny bracken to the left, and she swirled to see Odhar, much the worse for wear. The small amount of light reflecting off the snow showed his cloak had been ripped in several places. He seemed to be missing one shoe, and the remains of his hood lay in tatters on his shoulder.

  She ran to him and hugged him tightly. “Stones and crows! Odhar, what happened to you?”

  He smiled down at her. “Now that just made the whole cursed trek worth it!”

  She slapped him on the chest. “Stop being silly! What happened? Did you get lost?”

  He put his arm around her shoulder. “Indeed. Several times, both up and back. Your grandson is at Ceann-Coradh… and he’s not.”

  She furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand.”

  “He’s off on a training campaign. Maelan may be a fortnight, he may be a moon. He’s not due back for a while.”

  Étaín stamped her foot and let out an inarticulate cry of frustration. “Stones and crows. So we may have to wait until spring?”