Age of Saints: Druid's Brooch Series: #7 Page 5

  His mother suffered Sétna’s heavy hand several times, along with Conall and Lainn. However, lately the blows came harder, more often, and his mother’s bruises showed darker on her fair skin. While Conall grew tall, Sétna outweighed him fully three times. He would never win in a physical fight with his stepfather.

  Unless he used his magic.

  Such an idea had occurred to him before. He railed against the injustice of using magic to hurt someone, despite the physical disadvantages. He’d only used his powers in small ways until now, but the times he’d used it on another person became more frequent. First Tomas and now Sétna. Could he harm an attacker with his power? Could he bring himself to harm anyone at all? He couldn’t even rid himself of the guilt of hurting a dog.

  His branch ran out of leaves and he whipped it into the water, watching it fly, end over end. He nudged it with his power, and it spun more quickly, slicing the surface of the water like a watermill before he let it fall.

  “You really shouldn’t demonstrate your power where others can witness it, lad.”

  Conall almost fell off the rock at Adhna’s voice. Where had the old man come from? He’d heard no one approach on the crackling leaves surrounding the rock.

  After trying to calm his heart, Conall shrugged. “What power? I just flung a stick into the river.”

  “Where it danced like a Faerie on midsummer eve before you let it go. Don’t deny it, Conall. I can see the power as clear as a sunrise. It glowed around both you and the stick, though it’s faded now. I’ve noticed it before, but I decided a warning would be in order. Does your stepfather know?”

  Conall clenched his jaw, unable to think of a way to persuade Adhna he possessed no power.

  “Come now, don’t be reticent. I know well your father spoke to the creatures in the forest. Who do you think introduced me to Barnabus? Your father asked me to look after you and your talent when he left.”

  At first, Conall wanted to ask if that’s where Lainn got her ability to sing to the bees, but Adhna’s last word distracted him. Eager at a chance to clear up his doubts, Conall turned to the man. “Left? You mean ‘died’, right?”

  The man shook his head, a few stray leaves falling from the many braids in his dark hair. The beads in his beard rattled with the motion. “I didn’t come to speak to you of your father’s fate. I came because I heard your anguish. Tell me of your pain.”

  Which pain should he begin with? The pain of being unable to protect his mother? Of missing his father so much it felt like he’d lost an arm? The pain of knowing his sister might be in danger as well? The pain of his peers, like Tomas? Even the pain of Aoife and her constant push for affection tormented him.

  His father once told him pain meant you lived. Conall had just shrugged, but now he understood. Did he really want to live with all this pain? He bowed his head, resting his forehead on his knees.

  “Lad, lad. There’s always a way. Your father taught you that, didn’t he? There comes a time when every person must make their own life, make their own choices, for the good of their heart. This may be when they choose a trade or marry a loved one. It may be when you have children of your own. Some don’t find their true soul until they are aged like me. Some few never find it and drift through life hating the world and everyone in it. These souls are the cruel ones, those who inflict pain with no thought of how their actions affect others.

  “Conall, you will never be one of these. You can already see you must take a different path from the one you’re on. It’s quite apparent to any that care to look that you will not be what others expect you to become. You’re over-young yet to take such responsibility, but it should be soon.”

  Conall stared at the water, watching the swirls of leaves eddy and flow across the rippled surface. The motion made him momentarily dizzy, and if he hadn’t been firmly sitting upon the rock, he might have lost his balance. Adhna placed his hand on Conall’s back. He drew strange comfort from the older man’s proffered help.

  With pleading eyes, he turned to Adhna. “I don’t understand what I’m t-t-to do. What would Father have done?”

  The older man shook his head. “We can never know what another might do in any situation, young man. We can only listen to our heart and soul to decide what is best for us. What does your heart say?”

  He stared at the rushing river and spoke in a low voice. “We need to leave. M-mother, Lainn, and me. We need to escape and never return.”

  “And how would you engineer such an escape? Would Lainn come with you? Would your mother leave?”

  Anger and pain gripped Conall’s heart as he considered each question. He owned nothing of value to trade for supplies, other than his father’s brooch. Lainn would go anywhere he took her. His mother, however, hated change. She hated insecurity and the dangers of not knowing what her future might be. They’d heard her rage often enough of such things after their father…left.

  Well, she’d found her security, and at a terrible price. Conall must admit they lived much better now than with their father. As the family of a poor fisherman, they’d lived in a much smaller home. While he’d be thrilled to never eat fish again, they’d never missed a meal. Kindness was food for the soul, and they’d always been well fed of that sustenance.

  They ate meat almost every day now. Sétna replaced their rather threadbare léinte with finer cloth, despite his sneer of thinly disguised repugnance at the old garments. He allowed Lainn to pursue her dreams of studying at the oak grove, and taught Conall the mason’s trade. Still, Sétna starved them of affection.

  Mother might have chosen worse, he supposed.

  The bruises still burst into his memory like physical blows. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to erase the images from his mind.

  “Mother will never leave him.”

  Adhna nodded as if he knew what the answer would be. “And your sister?”

  “She’ll c-c-come. Lainn is tied to no land for long. She’s m-more of a free spirit in the world than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  With a knowing half-smile, Adhna nodded again. “You are wise to recognize such a thing so young, Conall of the Druid’s Brooch. When will you leave, then?”

  This became a much more difficult decision to puzzle out.

  “I have no provisions or food for such a journey. I have no place we can go to find safety.”

  “You are always welcome to my care, of course, but I am too close to your stepfather’s house. My cottage would be the first place he searched. However, I can supply bread and cheese, though it pains me to give away such delicious treats.”

  Conall laughed, his heart suddenly lighter. Adhna’s penchant for cheese became a standing joke to all who knew him. The mirth faded as reality pressed in.

  “But where would we g-g-go?”

  “With Lainn’s connection with the Druid grove, I might suggest she search for others. There is a large conclave to the northwest, on Cnoc Uisneach. Perhaps two days’ travel from here, though the way is difficult through the hills.”

  Conall wished he had something to occupy his hands. His discomfort at the idea of leaving everything he knew, his mother, his home, unsettled his stomach and his mind. “I’ve never traveled alone. I’ve never even traveled farther than the oak grove by myself.”

  Adhna patted him on the shoulder again. “You’ll do well. You have your talent, and with Lainn’s ability to charm animals, you’ll survive well enough. Just remember to keep watch in the evenings.”

  He couldn’t leave today. Maybe tomorrow. Or next week. Lainn had just passed to the next level of her lessons. She might not wish to leave and ruin everything she’d worked for.

  “You’ll know when it’s time to leave, lad. Trust your heart, remember?”

  Conall nodded, but when he turned to ask Adhna a question, the old man had disappeared.

  “Blood and bones! I wish he wouldn’t do that.”

  * * *

  Several weeks later, Conall’s heart seized in his chest. He tore throug
h his belongings with increasing terror, certain someone had found his father’s brooch and stolen it. The brooch his father gave him in sacred trust, the family heirloom full of magic that must, before all else, be kept secret and safe.

  He’d put it in the small pack he kept under his bed, packed and ready to leave at a moment’s notice. He’d slowly built the pack with preserved food, a few iron utensils, a bowl, even a few left over or older masonry tools Sétna no longer wanted. At the bottom of the pack, wrapped in the old bit of white linen, should be the brooch.

  But it wasn’t there.

  In desperation, Conall searched under his cot, under Lainn’s cot, through her clothing and growing collection of pine cones, colorful autumn leaves, and dead butterfly wings.

  What if his mother found it? Would she recognize it as something of her husband’s, or had he kept that secret even from her?

  What if Sétna found the brooch and sold the precious jewelry to some tinker passing through town and traveling far away, never to be seen again?

  Reason asserted itself. If Sétna had found a brooch that valuable within Conall’s things, his stepfather would have confronted him and accused him of thievery. With no accusation, Sétna must not have found it. His mother might not bother with such a thing. She might just sell it for strong wine and enjoy her spoils until she passed out.

  With shaking hands and a mental kick, Conall left Lainn’s cot and reached under his own pillow. As soon as the sharp point of the pin pricked his finger, he let out a huge sigh of relief. He’d forgotten he’d placed it under his pillow a week before, worried that the heavy rains would flood the roundhouse and get the pack wet. Conall hugged the treasure close to his chest, ignoring where the filigree metal bit into his tender skin. He closed his eyes and carefully placed it back into the bottom of his pack, safe and sound and ready to flee.

  Chapter 4

  Several moons later, Conall still debated when they should leave. Lainn came home each day, ebullient with tales of her new lessons, eagerly describing all the wondrous things she learned. She practiced on him, telling him stories she needed to memorize. Conall didn’t mind, even though he’d heard many of the tales before. Watching her search for the right detail, an obscure name, or a list of three magical items as part of her recitation, grew distracting.

  Lainn always grew quiet in the evenings. She usually helped Sétna with the horses after supper, while Conall helped their mother clean. During this time, he didn’t envy Lainn her talent with animals. He had to bite his lip against Sétna all day in their masonry lessons. The evening respite became cherished time with his mother.

  As he helped her clean after supper, he forced himself to ask in a casual voice, “Do you ever think of moving away from here, Mother?”

  Conall held his breath while she considered her answer.

  She shook her head. “Why should I leave? My husband and children are here.”

  “No, I mean when Lainn and I are grown, with families of our own. If you weren’t married.”

  She let out a snort. “If I weren’t married, how would I live? I’d have no house, no food, no cattle. You aren’t making sense, Conall.”

  He glanced at the door to ensure his stepfather hadn’t overheard, and wished he had the courage to ask her outright.

  Run away with us, Mother. A thousand times, he rehearsed the words in his mind. Every day, he vowed to ask her, but each time, something stopped his question. Perhaps he noticed the look in her eyes, a flinch, a whispered warning in the evening air. Whatever the reason, he never found the courage to ask. Without asking his mother, he daren’t take Lainn away.

  The winds now grew cold as night fell on the shortened days of the winter season. Ice formed among the cruel bare branches, and the path to the druid grove became treacherous. Still, he insisted on walking Lainn to her lessons every day.

  He hadn’t asked his sister about leaving, either. The decision weighed on his shoulders more heavily each day. Every new bruise upon his mother’s cheek made him clench his fists in simmering rage, and yet he couldn’t act. His family’s lives relied on their fragile peace. He wouldn’t shatter those dreams with his lumbering half-baked solution.

  Would running away even solve anything? What if they starved in the woods? Winter punished those who lived without shelter, especially spoiled children like themselves, children who had never lived rough in their short lives.

  He pondered asking Adhna to teach him more woodcraft as he traveled to the grove to pick Lainn up from the day’s lesson. A rustling in the brush made him turn, and a bright flash of red caught his eye. The blonde girl’s artful smile made his blood run cold. Aoife.

  Running along the muddy, icy path wasn’t an option. She blocked his way and, from her sly smile, she knew she’d trapped him.

  “I’m late, Aoife. Please, let m-me by.”

  “Surely, you needn’t rush off so quickly.” She stepped close to him, her warm breath misting on his mouth. He licked his lips and swallowed. He wanted to back away, but he remained rooted to the path.

  Aoife ran a hand down the front of his chest, pulling the wool of his Maelblatha as it traveled down. His legs finally worked, and he backed away, almost slipping on the mud.

  She frowned and stepped toward him again, but he pulled on his power and made the mud shift beneath her feet. She fell heavily in the icy slush and cried out in pain and indignation.

  Conall escaped while he had the chance. He yelled back, “Sorry!” and dashed down the path toward the oak grove, slipping a couple times but not falling. Her voice chased him, haranguing him for not helping her up. As the sound faded, he slowed, gasping for breath when the icy wind seared his throat and lungs.

  The entrance to the oak grove came into view, and he shook his thoughts away, searching the clearing for his sister. She didn’t wait for him, so he must not be as late as he imagined.

  He sat on the low, stone wall along the edge of the clearing, sweeping off dead leaves and slushy ice. The stones chilled his butt, but his legs trembled after his escape from Aoife. He needed to think for a while.

  Aoife used to be mean to him. Like everyone else, she used to tease him for his stutter, pull his braids, and throw cow pats at him. Only the last couple of months had her attentions shifted from disdainful cruelty to aggressively amorous. He wished she’d return to the cruelty. He knew how to handle bullies.

  Why did she terrify him so? She was attractive, interested, and certainly a decent match, as far as his stepfather would say. Her family was wealthy, with a large stake of land and forty head of cattle.

  The thought of wedding and bedding Aoife made him shiver and shrink inside.

  He didn’t hate her, but he had no interest in bedding her. Conall imagined himself lying with Aoife in their marriage bed, and he might as well have considered laying with his sister. He had absolutely no desire to touch her, to share intimate moments together, despite her attractive curves and sweet smile.

  He’d had such thoughts. Any young man had dreams. But his dreams didn’t center around Aoife. His fantasies were nebulous, and he never focused upon the face of his imagined lover.

  A freezing wind blew dust and debris into his face. He sputtered and wiped his eyes, realizing he’d been waiting for Lainn for quite a while. Did she remain in the grove? Should I go find her? Perhaps he’d been as late as he first thought, and she’d left without him?

  A raven cawed behind him, making him jump off the wall and spin around. The enormous bird cawed again and hopped down the path toward home. It looked back at Conall and skipped forward several steps. It looked back at him again.

  Conall shrugged and followed. One didn’t question a raven with such clear signals.

  Once Conall walked after him, the raven barely stopped, causing Conall to practically run after the creature. Past where he had evaded Aoife, past the ruined roundhouse where rumor said air-daemons lived, past the bend in the river which ate more of the bank each year. Only when they neared his home did
the raven slow.

  A shudder which had nothing to do with the winter air spread through Conall’s bones as he studied the silent roundhouse. The farm never grew silent, but no animal made a sound now.

  Conall straightened his shoulders and went first to the barn, where Mother should be at this time of day. One mare nickered and pawed the ground. The other let out a huff of air and shook her head. The rest of the structure stood empty.

  A stricture in his throat made it difficult to swallow, but he took a drink of cold, clear water from the well before venturing into the roundhouse.

  The interior seemed darker than usual. A glance at the center hearth showed the fire had been allowed to burn down to glowing embers. The dim light of the early evening barely seeped through the windows. No one appeared to be in the main room, but he heard a shuffle and a whimper in his stepfather’s alcove. Had it been Grárhund? No, the whine sounded human, not animal. With growing dread, he crept to the alcove and pulled aside the curtain.

  At first, he made no sense of what he saw. His stepfather’s back blocked most of his view. However, Lainn’s coppery curls sprawled out on the cot and she cried out. “Conall!”

  The anguish and entreaty in her voice spurred him to shove their stepfather aside with all the might and magic he could muster. The older man crashed into the wicker wall of the alcove, landing with a grunt and a thump. His Maelblatha had been rucked up to his waist, as had Lainn’s, and her legs lay naked on the cot. She shot up like a bird and dashed out of the alcove, a look of pure terror on her face.

  With an enraged glance at Sétna, who remained where he lay, Conall ran to his own alcove and grabbed his shoulder-sack. He’d kept it packed since he spoke to Adhna months before, adding preserved food, a discarded tool, or a clean Maelblatha. He spent a few precious moments making certain the brooch remained inside and yanking a few of Lainn’s clothes, stuffing the top of the pack before he darted outside.

  Lainn stood at the well, splashing water all over her lower body, despite the freezing wind. Either tears or wash water streaked her face. Conall never wanted to ask.