Age of Druids: Druid's Brooch Series: #9 Read online

  While she couldn’t care less what his personal beliefs might be, he preached his bias every day to the community. Despite their own strong ties to the old gods, such bias made its mark. Each rest day, during the speech after the liturgy, either Pátraic or another monk would urge the villagers to destroy any mushroom circles they found. They’d pull down the Faerie stones dotted across the landscape and plug up any caves or springs said to be sacred to the old deities. They preserved some locations by re-dedicating them to the new religion’s saints, the half-divine humans that became elevated through works toward the new god. Clíodhna didn’t understand quite how these saints worked, but she equated them with the Fae lords. They had power, but not the power the gods had.

  Etromma tried to teach her the difference between the saints, but she didn’t really comprehend.

  One morning, Donn explained to her how this new God consisted of three Gods at once, but still just one.

  “Like the Morrigú? She has three aspects, depending on the need.”

  “Well, not quite. But use her as an example if you wish. For God, it’s the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

  Clíodhna had never heard that last phrase. “What, precisely, is a Holy Spirit?”

  He screwed up his face. “Let me ask Brother Cronan. He can explain it better than I can.”

  It didn’t matter how many times they tried to explain, Clíodhna neither tried to understand nor wanted to. She didn’t need to have faith the new god existed. The old ones remained real to her. She’d supped with Fae and worked their magic, which ran through her own blood. The blood of her children, as well, though they’d refuse to acknowledge that part of their heritage.

  Her children’s dedication to the new religion just made her more determined to master Adhna’s lessons.

  When Adhna returned the next day, he stared at her, his gaze traveling from head to toe. “Clíodhna! When were you going to tell me?”

  At a loss, she replied, “Tell you what?”

  “That you’re with child? How long has it been since you’ve bled?”

  Clíodhna counted back, trying to remember. In all the kerfuffle since Odhrán left, she’d barely kept track, unusual for her. “At least before Bealtaine, I would say. Oh!”

  Another baby. Aileran had barely lived a full cycle of the seasons. How could she deal with another baby? Her days were already filled with so much. Despair began to loom around her.

  Adhna gripped her shoulders. “Clíodhna! Don’t be sad. This is delightful news. Wonderful! I’m joyful!”

  “But how will I care for another child? Adhna, it’s hard enough with three.”

  “I vow I will help, Clíodhna. Have I not helped already? We Fae so seldom have new babies. This is fantastic news! This new babe gives me hope.”

  Fear clutched her heart, despite his assurances. “But what if it’s not yours? What if this is Odhrán’s babe?”

  He searched her eyes and put his hand on her belly. The energy flowed into her from his hand, warm and tingling. “No, it’s of Fae blood, and even more than the amount you have. You carry my son.”

  “A son?”

  He grinned. “Yes, my dear. A son of the Fae, strong and magical like his mother.” He clutched her into a tight embrace. At first, she tried to wriggle free, unwilling to let happiness dampen her distress, but his bliss infected her. Clíodhna let the smile creep across her face.

  Another thought occurred to her. “The village. They’ll believe it to be Odhrán’s, no matter what I say. You don’t exist to them. Abbot Pátraic already detests me. He’s gotten some villagers to believe the same way. A few hissed at me when I pass.”

  He scratched his beard. “Hmm. That may be an issue. I shall work to alleviate that. Now, how did you complete on the assignment I gave you last week?”

  Eager to leave the subject of her pregnancy behind, she launched into a recounting of her activities. “I replanted the Faerie ring in a more secluded part of the forest. The Aos Sídhe followed well enough, though they chittered and complained about the move. I had to do it in the dark of the night, no moon at all to see, lest the villagers notice. They’ll all believe someone stomped it.”

  “Good, good. And what about the sídhe in the village square?”

  Clíodhna frowned. “I tried to get the villagers interested in preserving her home, but they kept threatening it with torches. They’d frightened her enough with the fire that she came willingly. I found an unoccupied oak, even older and larger than her old home, right near a bend in the river. She clapped with elation when she saw that isolated place.”

  “Good, good. What have you got next on your plan?”

  Clíodhna put a finger on her lip, considering the options. “The Grugach near the tannery are unhappy there. The waste the tanner dumps in the river hurts them. I could move them upstream, near the three hills.”

  “What else?”

  Clíodhna thought of all the Aos Sídhe she’d met in her seasons there. The spirits of the water, land, and air, the trees and flowers. The magical creatures that existed just out of most humans’ peripheral vision, who only showed themselves to a select few, or the very young. These creatures, both delicate and eternal, playful and capricious, needed her help. The village had changed, and no longer held safety for them.

  “I’m not sure. I have to search to see who else is unhappy.”

  “Excellent work. This Abbot is on a mission, and his determination is strong.”

  After that, Clíodhna fell into a routine. She took her children to the abbey, but didn’t enter, as per Abbot Pátraic’s command. Etromma took Aileran in to his minder on her way to the cook’s domain. Donn had moved from carving wood to carving stone and liked it even more. He’d shown her several of his creations, some of which looked like dignified men in long robes, while others looked like grotesque creatures grimacing in either pain or joy. His details were yet crude, but he gained skill with steady practice.

  His talent reminded Clíodhna of her own love of carving when she’d been younger. Before she had children, she’d delight in taking a small boll of wood and revealing the hidden creature inside. She hadn’t mastered the craft, surely, but she could create something lovely. She missed the texture of raw wood beneath her fingers, the slow removal of the extra bits to unearth the life beneath.

  Clíodhna glimpsed Pátraic around the abbey grounds or in the village. He’d glare at her, and she’d stand her ground and glare back. He had no right to come to her village and usurp all power. She would not cede this to him, not now, not ever.

  After visiting the third villager, however, she found mixed success. The blacksmith didn’t even invite her in. Ita invited her in for a chat but didn’t have much time to visit. The tanner welcomed her but glanced at the river when she spoke of the waste dumped there.

  Working in the shadows, she corrected and redirected the evil rumors Patraic spread to remove the taint he’d attached to her good name. While she only had limited success, this subtle campaign slowed the wave of negativity that swept through the village.

  She tried to get support to help the Fair Folk, but the sermons of these new Christians had long since delegated them into the role of evil creatures. They believed the Fair Folk to be of their Christian devil—an absurd notion. They were of the very land, so how could the land be evil? Still, she attempted to speak of them to those that might still listen.

  Even before Odhrán had left, she’d asked his help with the matter. He’d listened with a sympathetic ear but wouldn’t help. “It would be against our scriptures to traffic with such creatures, Clíodhna. I am so sorry.”

  The blacksmith had been a hopeless case. He’d fallen well into the Christian dogma, even before Pátraic had arrived. Ita, while sympathetic to Clíodhna’s plight, had similar views. However, a few of the other women, including the tanner’s wife, still left out offerings to the Fae every moon. A saucer of fresh cream to keep her cows full of milk, or a bit of honey to keep the bees happy. These
practices had been part of the history of their people and should remain for many generations hence.

  If she couldn’t convince the villagers to help, she’d have to do her duty alone.

  When the night of the next full moon arrived, she approached the ash trees next to the abbey. She’d learned from Odhrán these trees were to be removed to make way for a new house for their writing. The sylph living in one of the trees would need a new home.

  With a bowl of cream, she waited until the last monk returned to his bed. She approached the tree while humming a soothing tune under her breath. At the same time, she drew in a tendril of power from the earth, to make sure the sylph would recognize her as magical.

  She placed the bowl on the ash tree roots. “Sylph, I have a gift for you.”

  At first, nothing stirred within the rough bark. A flicker of pale, gray light shone out from behind the wrinkles. It winked in and out several times before seeping out into the chilly night. It formed into the outline of a slim woman, impossibly tall and wispy. “Who calls to me?”

  Bowing with respect, Clíodhna touched the bowl. “I am a friend of the Fae. I come with news and a gift.”

  The sylph glanced at the cream and licked her lips. Her gaze returned to Clíodhna. “What news do you bring?”

  While clenching her jaw, Clíodhna let out a deep breath. “The sons of man who live here plan on hurting your tree. I come to show you a new place to live in peace, if you would follow me.”

  The sylph inched toward the cream. “Will you make me move?”

  “I will not. However, I cannot stop the men from chopping down your tree. It will be safer for you to move before they attack.”

  The sylph swirled around the tree at the word “attack,” lacing through the branches of the tree like fish through flowing seaweed. While she watched the beautiful dance, Clíodhna realized the sylph must be agitated.

  When the Fae finally settled back down to the roots, she took a long sip of the cream. “Very well. Show me your place.”

  As Clíodhna led the sylph into the hills, the Fae winked in and out of every tree, as if visiting each one on their journey. Clíodhna didn’t know if any had more sylphs, but few trees did anymore. Many Fae disappeared when men moved into an area.

  They reached a tall hill with a grove of over twenty ash trees, tall and straight in the center. The sylph clapped her hands in delight and performed another dance around each one, as if testing for the best home. She finally decided on one near the center and flicked into the bark. The glow grew bright and then faded into nothing. Two more brief flashes were both a dismissal and thanks.

  By the time she’d settled the nature spirit into her new home and stumbled into her own roundhouse, the dawn had already broken in the east. Grumbling about impossible nights, she roused herself to greet the dawn, as she did every day. She braided her hair and piled it on her head to keep it out of her eyes. She almost fell asleep while pulling the energy from the earth, though it helped renew her body.

  The sun topped the hill and she let out a deep sigh. Clíodhna had no true time limit on her work, but more nature spirits came into danger every day. She must help those around her, an obligation Adhna had charged her with. He only visited every week now, to monitor how she progressed in both her work and her lessons.

  They would honor the gods with their lovemaking, and she looked forward to those days. Nothing compared to that first time on Bealtaine. But that had been a mystical coupling, sympathetic magic symbolizing the union of god and goddess on the cusp of the season. Acts between a mostly human woman and a Fae man created much less magic. Despite the difference in power, they enjoyed talking afterwards, intimate conversations while wrapped in each other’s arms, a precious prize.

  Clíodhna rose to get some rest before dropping the children at the abbey, but when she turned, she almost barreled into someone standing right behind her. She grunted and backed up three steps, stunned to see Abbot Pátraic.

  Her eyebrows rose. “What are you doing here?”

  He raised his chin and his gaze traveled up and down her body, a sneer on his face. “Performing pagan rites? That’s not acceptable for one who comes to my church.”

  Clíodhna planted her feet and crossed her arms. “What I do in my home is my concern, not yours. This is not your abbey.”

  He clasped his hands. “Ah, but your children come to my abbey every day. A grace I have bestowed out of the kindness of my heart.”

  The statement required no answer, so she offered none. She narrowed her eyes, wondering what he would say next.

  “It has come to my attention that you have no husband. Raising three children without help must be difficult. One purpose of our church is to help in such situations. I have therefore decided to relieve you of that burden.”

  She forgot how to breathe. “What? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we shall take Etromma, Donn, and Aileran into the abbey and raise them as good Christian children. Your wanton, pagan taint shall not sully them further. Their lives will be much purer for this.” He turned and waved forward five burly monks who had materialized next to her roundhouse.

  With a cry, she ran for the house, but Pátraic caught her around the waist. Clíodhna screamed and clawed for his eyes, twisting her body in his arms. He let out a screech, and pulled back from her attack, his grip slipping.

  Wriggling free, she made it to the threshold before the first monk crossed inside. She planted herself in his path. “You will not enter my house! I do not give you permission to touch my children! Get away from my home, all of you!”

  The wind whipped up and blew so hard, two of the monks staggered back. The others searched the sky in panic as dark clouds roiled in, blackening the rising sun. Screaming ethereal creatures rode within the wind itself. The gossamer horrors, all mouths and sharp teeth, would be Sluagh Sídhe intent upon harassing the monks. Clíodhna hadn’t called the creatures. They must have joined in the fun once they noticed the storm.

  Pátraic also glanced to the heavens and moved his hand from shoulder to shoulder, then to his forehead and his chest. He gestured to the monks to follow him. Before he left the clearing, he turned back to her, his eyes narrowed. “This is not finished, wanton. Mend your ways and I might relent. But continue your pagan practices, and I will have no choice but to act in the children’s best interest.”

  Once the men left, Clíodhna’s knees buckled under her, and she sat on the threshold. She gave in to the shakes and put her hands over her face. Tears leaked out between her fingers.

  Donn poked his head out. His gaze seemed clear and worried, so he must have been up and listening to the argument. “Ma? Ma, what’s wrong?”

  Clíodhna sniffed in to clear her head. “Nothing, Donn. But I can’t take you to the abbey any longer for lessons.”

  “Why? What did I do?”

  “Not you, Donn. Me. I angered Abbot Pátraic, and now he wants to take you from me. You, Etromma, Aileran.”

  Her son sat next to her on the threshold, his brow furrowed deep. “I don’t understand. Why would they take us from you? Are you going away?”

  She put her arm around him, hugging him tight against her right side. “No, Donn. They want to take you all away from me to teach you to be good Christians. I’m too pagan for them. Do you know what pagan is?”

  He picked at his nails. “The monks say the word, but I don’t know what it means.”

  “Odhrán told me it used to just mean people who dwell in the country. However, it has come to be a name they give to those who aren’t Christian. Anyone who doesn’t believe like they do. They use it as an insult to all of us who don’t follow their ways.”

  Donn bowed his head and Etromma’s sleepy voice drifted from the darkness. “Ma? What’s wrong?”

  Clíodhna stood and rushed to her daughter’s side. “Go back to sleep, love. You don’t have to get up early today to do chores before lessons. I’ll go feed Aileran, and Donn will tend to the animals.”

&nb
sp; Donn headed toward the stable while Clíodhna lifted her baby to feed him.

  Would she have to run away? Take her children and flee in the night like criminals? She gripped Aileran so tightly he whimpered. She relented and loosened her hold while he sucked.

  No. She would not allow this. She had been here for many winters, ever since she married Oisinne. Since before Etromma was born. She had nowhere else to go, as her parents had died of a fever when she was young.

  Clíodhna would not permit Abbot Pátraic the satisfaction of running her off.

  * * *

  When Adhna returned the next week, Clíodhna let out a sigh of relief. Since Pátraic’s visit, she’d been jumping at shadows, twitching at each sound, worried they had returned to take her children. With Adhna here, she would have help. He could help her keep watch and maybe teach her how to make her home safer.

  “Clíodhna? You look distraught, child. Come, let me help you.” He placed his hands on her forehead and that sweet, strong energy infused her body, rushing through every muscle and bone. She quivered with delighted strength when he’d finished.

  She let out a deep sigh and sat on the bench outside the roundhouse. “Thank you, Adhna. I’ve gotten little rest this week, and my work has suffered.”

  “Oh? There is a tale to tell, I see. Let’s sit and you can relate it. Might you have a bit of cheese to hand?”

  Clíodhna chuckled and fetched the wedge she’d kept for him. His love of cheese had become a joke between them, but he had an obsession. Made from goat’s, cow’s, or sheep’s milk, he didn’t care. He’d told her that Fae aren’t very good at making things, unless they were a specific kind of Fae. Cheese, bread, milk—each required physical labor the Fae didn’t care for. Despite Adhna’s ability to create milk within a cow’s udder, doing this regularly didn’t appeal to him, even if it supplied him with endless cheese. Thus, such gifts from humankind had become well-loved by the Fae.

  “What has happened this week to make you so frazzled, Clíodhna?”

  She related the details of Pátraic’s visit and his threats. Adhna clicked his tongue and tugged at his beard several times as she spoke, her anger seeping through her words despite her determination to speak in a calm tone. When she’d finished, he let out a deep breath.