Age of Druids: A Dark Irish Historical Fantasy: The Druid's Brooch Series, #9

Chapter One

Late winter, 442 CE, Loch Rí, Éire

Her baby Aileran's skull-piercing screech stabbed through Clíodhna’s skull, making her want to abandon everyone and escape into blessed silence. Anything for a little peace and quiet, and several days of sleep.

She wished she could run somewhere in the forest, maybe up a hill, surrounded by buzzing bees and yellow flowers. Or flying over the rolling hills with a flock of starlings.

Her brief fantasy crashed to earth when another scream broke through. She picked up the babe, rocking him against her shoulder while stirring the iron pot. Clíodhna cast an eye for her middle child, Donn, who helped a lot, but tended to wander off and get into trouble. He wasn’t inside, but she heard him yelling at the chickens, so he must be doing his chores.

Aileran cuddled into her shoulder, let out a wet burp, and promptly fell asleep, a warm weight against her neck. His hand curled around a hank of her black hair, pulling just enough to make her wince.

At the same time, his adorable smile invoked her own. Despite her frustration, she loved her baby boy. It had been a dozen winters since her womb had quickened, but she’d been glad of the new child after so long, especially after losing a daughter at birth.

Clíodhna glanced out the window of the large roundhouse. She glimpsed Donn unharnessing the plow with practiced hands. Though he had but fourteen winters, he’d stepped up as the man of the house ever since his father disappeared.

The baby fussed again, whimpering in his sleep. She rocked him while stirring the stew in the pot. They’d only a few meals of dried lamb left from autumn harvest, but had plenty of onions and turnips, as well as chives and garlic. At least Oisinne left them a workable farm before he disappeared. She used to sell small wooden carvings she’d made, but who had time for such frivolity now?

A sharp whiff of char caught her attention. Curse the crows! She swiveled the pot off the fire. She’d have to add more water before it scorched. Baby still in hand, she bent to the bucket, trying to lift it without waking the child.

His screams shot right through her skull, a physical pain that made her drop the bucket. The water splashed on the flagstone floor.

Son of a diseased donkey!

Clíodhna! Such language!

Ita, her friend from the village, stood in the doorway, a hand upon her heart.

Sorry, Ita. Can you help me for a moment? I need about five extra hands.

I can see that. Here, let me take the wee one. She reached out to take Aileran, who yanked on Clíodhna’s black hair so hard, it brought tears to her eyes.

She tried to be patient with her son. "Let go, Aileran; there’s a good babe."

A crash outside made her curse under her breath.

Ita smiled. Go. Check on your lad out there. I’ve got Aileran well in hand. Don’t I, wee thing? We’re going to get on just grand. She touched the baby’s nose, eliciting a giggle from the ungrateful wretch. Then the babe grabbed her blond hair and gave a hard yank.

Clíodhna gave them one last lingering glance before she rushed out to find out what trouble Donn had fallen into.

The boy lay half under a bale of hay, struggling to pull his leg out, his face screwed up in a comical grimace.

Trying to suppress a chuckle, Clíodhna lifted the edge so he could get free. How did you get under there, Donn?

He pouted, wiping straw from his léine. When I brought Tinn into his stall, he reared. I staggered back and hit the pile. The top one fell on me. It didn’t hurt, though!

Clíodhna eyed the stack of hay, assessing the sturdiness of the remaining bales while trying to stifle a grin. They look stout enough to me. You must have hit the bale hard.

He stared at his foot, shuffling it in the dirt. Yeah, I hit it hard. Tinn reared pretty high.

Clíodhna gave him a pat on the shoulder. I suppose a full-grown horse rearing up high can be rather scary, even to a sturdy lad of fourteen winters. I’m glad you were smart enough to back up. A frightened horse can be dangerous.

I know, Ma. Uh, am I in trouble?

Of course not. But you still have chores left. Can you fetch me two more buckets of water?

He squinted at her. Didn’t I just bring one in before I plowed?

Unfortunately, I dropped that one trying to put more water in the stew. Oh, my stew!

She rushed back into the roundhouse but Ita had moved the stew well away from the hearth.

Clíodhna let out a sigh. Thank you, Ita. I’m sorry to leave you with him for so long.

The older woman grinned, handing the baby back. He’s been a lovely lad. I miss my own babies. They’re all grown and starting families of their own now. Hopefully, I’ll have grandchildren soon to play with. Oh, that reminds me, I saw Etromma in the village. She said to tell you she might be later than she expected.

Clíodhna’s eldest daughter spent far too much time with the blacksmith’s boy, Tirechan, for her peace of mind. Etromma had sixteen winters, a marriageable age, and had made her choice clear. But the blacksmith would never pair his son, full of high status, to Etromma.

As the daughter of a single woman with a small farm, they held very little status. A blacksmith stood second only to a bard or druí, as he knew the magic of creating iron. His sons could choose any woman they wanted, but their father would pick the most advantageous mate.

In the meantime, Etromma would only make a fool of herself hanging around, trying to impress the lad, and possibly get herself with child. None of which would increase their status in the slightest.

She’d almost forgotten Ita was still standing in her house. Her guest stirred the pot idly while Clíodhna lost herself in musings.

After clearing her throat, Clíodhna asked, Did you come over to ask something, Ita, before I so rudely recruited you into being an assistant?

With a chuckle, Ita glanced up from the stew. I was wondering if you would like to join me for the next meeting with the monks tomorrow morning?

Clíodhna cocked her head. The monks? You mean those strange men up in the glade? Why would I do that?

Her friend gave laugh. Well, for one, you can bring your children. It might give them something to do other than get in trouble. They teach classes, skills like beekeeping or baking.

Clíodhna waved her hand. I already know how to bake.

You do, yes. But does Donn? And being part of the community means you might have more help with the children when you need an extra hand. Ita raised her eyebrows and glanced at the baby.

Aileran was now sleeping in her arms as Donn came in with two buckets sloshing full of water. He grinned at Ita and carried them to the hearth. With a glance at Clíodhna, he poured some into the kettle and swung the iron arm back over the fire.

Ita glanced at him. Good lad. You’ll make some woman a grand husband someday.

Clíodhna resented the other woman saying it before she could. Donn was her child, not Ita’s. Her friend had raised her brood already.

Then Clíodhna chided herself. Her friend just wanted to help. And the gods knew Clíodhna needed any help she could get. She hadn’t enjoyed a good night’s rest in moons. Five, to be exact. Ever since Oisinne left.

Clíodhna kept trying to convince herself his absence wasn’t her fault. They’d had no argument, and she knew of no other woman, no long-lost relative came seeking help. He’d simply gone out hunting one day.

When he didn’t come back the first night, she’d thought little of it. He often stayed out overnight, especially if he found no deer. By the second night, she’d grown concerned.

By the fourth night, she’d gathered several men from the village and together, they’d combed the nearby woods, searching for sign of either the hunter or his belongings. They found nothing.

The best trackers in the village found not one clue. Not even the trace of his footsteps in the mud. Clíodhna even lost her last horse to the search, when he got mired in a bog and broke his leg trying to escape. She’d loved riding that horse to escape life when she still could. That time was over now, with three children to care for.

Speculation as to Oisinne’s fate ran rampant through the community. The most common theory was he’d been taken by the Faeries. Others guessed he’d just left to start a new life, or he’d fallen into a bog and suffocated, or he’d hidden himself and laughed at them all for their searching.

He’d always been fond of playing jokes, and the latter seemed plausible. But as the season marched with no sign of him, a joke appeared less likely.

Clíodhna muddled on as best she could, vacillating between resentment, freedom, loneliness, and despair.

At least he’d left her with a full pantry and dried lamb, beef, and fish from his hunting and fishing forays. He’d been a great hunter. His skill with the bow was unrivaled.

Before he left, he’d taught Etromma to shoot the bow, and she had a great deal of skill. She’d brought down two deer this winter, which helped tremendously.

Donn would never be a great hunter, but he adored fishing. Between the two of them, and her own weaving, they’d survived the winter. But she’d found it difficult to tend the house and raise the children at the same time. Perhaps being part of this monk community might help.

Clíodhna glanced at Ita, still stirring the kettle, waiting for her answer. What could it hurt to see what these monks had to say? Very well, Ita. I’ll come with you tomorrow. When?

Just after dawn.

Her eyes grew wide. Dawn? That’s when we milk the cows.

Ita waved her hand. The cows can be milked earlier, can’t they? Just give it a try. There is a Lovefeast afterward.

IT TURNED OUT THAT the cows didn’t mind being milked before dawn. If anything, they were more placid than usual. As darkness faded, Clíodhna gathered her three children and trudged to the outskirts of the village.

Etromma whined as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Ma, where are we going?

I told you, dear one. Ita invited us to the monk’s house. They’re giving some sort of lesson. She thought we’d enjoy it.

But it’s so early! Why do we have to wake up extra early?

Because that’s when they do the lesson. If we don’t like it, we can leave.

Etromma answered with sullen silence and a few resentful glares.

Donn chucked her on the shoulder. Mornings are the best time of the day, sister. Don’t you love watching the sun rise? We always greet the dawn with Ma anyhow.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, but that’s dawn. This is before dawn. It’s unnatural."

Clíodhna hid a smile and kept walking. Her roundhouse was some distance outside the main village, if village was the proper term. A collection of twenty families and a few single craftsmen clustered near a bend in the river.

About a dozen more farms like hers circled the village. Past that lay a low, flat hill where the monks built their community. The river running through town eventually fed into the sea, where Clíodhna had grown up.

She missed the salt water and storms across the ocean. Memories of swimming with dolphins and sharks sometimes tickled her dreams.

Seven monks had settled in this area the summer before last. They’d built apiaries, planted gardens, and helped the people in the village with tasks now and then.

Oisinne had attended their meetings once or twice but came back grumbling under his breath about dead gods, so he never went back. For Clíodhna to go without his blessing would be rude and unseemly. Besides, she’d never felt the need before.

Now, with Ita’s urging, she pulled Etromma, Donn, and little Aileran in a sleepy string along the forest path toward the monks’ place.

Others met them on the road. A smile, a nod, but not much conversation peppered the pre-dawn light. The sun shot rays up through pink clouds, but it was still chilly. Her toes grew numb from the mid-winter frost, and now wet besides from the dew. This had better be worth the effort.

About thirty people gathered at the wattle and daub square structure. It wore an odd little attachment on the chimney, like someone nailed two straight sticks together, crosswise.

The interior was dark, but at least the walls cut the winter wind. A small hearth burned near the front, and two braziers filled with glowing coals stood in back corners. Near the fire, a small table stood with another pair of crossed wooden sticks. A monk dressed in white robes and a colorful neck scarf stood next to it, his hands clasped in a patient pose.

Some of the villagers sat on the floor, so Clíodhna found a place along one wall and did the same, arranging her children in front of her.

As they waited, Donn poked Etromma in the shoulder, eliciting a yip of surprise and outrage. She shoved him back.

Clíodhna whispered, Quiet! Both of you.

But he—

She held up a finger. Shh!

Ma—

I said shh! Not another word.

Etromma fell back into her habitual pout. Clíodhna tried to think back to when she’d been that age. Had she been so petulant and whiny? She didn’t think so. All her causes had been righteous and worthy, or so she believed at the time. Her parents probably would have disagreed.

Clíodhna remembered falling hopelessly in love at least a dozen times in those seasons. Perhaps being in love with just one boy at one time would work out better for Etromma.

It had taken a long time for Clíodhna to settle on a suitor, and she’d chosen poorly. Oh, Oisinne had been a fine storyteller and never failed to make her laugh. But, as much joy as he gave with his tales, he’d abandoned them all with no word.

Many times, Clíodhna imagined what might have happened to him. Many times, she came up with no answers. She’d even tried to ask the Good Folk, but they either refused to answer or didn’t know. Or her offerings weren’t enough. Their dissatisfaction was sometimes indistinguishable from their sheer contrary nature.

Back before she’d gotten married, Clíodhna had spent a lot more time with the nature spirits. Several Aos Sídhe, the people of the faerie hill, were her friends. She’d bring gifts and songs for them, and they’d reward her with dances and magic. Nothing powerful, but little magics, like a flower that blossomed with light, or a wind to caress her cheek.

Some seemed tiny enough to fit in her hand while others towered over her like mighty oak trees, but as insubstantial as mist.

Now that she had three children, she had nothing resembling free time. Caring for them consumed her entire day, attention, and energy. Tending the animals, the crops, and being a judge between Donn and Etromma took everything she had.

Still, she found joy in her children, as she had from her husband. When he left, he took some of that joy, some of that pleasure.

That reminded her of how many moons it had been since she’d lain with a man. Oisinne disappeared five moons past. She’d never gone that long since she’d discovered the pleasure a man could bring.

A monk in white robes raised his hands, his sleeves falling back. Druí knotwork tattoos, faded with age, entwined his forearms. A druí who became a monk? Clíodhna frowned, glancing around to see who else noticed. What betrayal is this?

He intoned several phrases full of harsh consonants and guttural sounds. Clíodhna couldn’t understand a word of it. This new religion came from the lands beyond the sea, so they must have their own language. Did they expect everyone who came to these meetings to understand them?

The monk finished his speech and lowered his arms. His hair had been shaved across the top, bearing a large brow and forehead. The other monks bore similar hairstyles, and in Clíodhna’s opinion, they looked silly. Still, she felt certain the druí required odd physical changes for their dedicants.

Some druí painted permanent marks on their skin with needles and dyes. Others spent several seasons in solitude, seeking wisdom from the gods. The gods only knew what other privations their dedications required.

Now speaking in their own language, the monk relaxed into a more conversational tone. He spoke of a god born hundreds of seasons ago, in a land near the desert, as per an ancient prophecy.

This god was born of a pure woman and a carpenter. Not only a god, but the son of a god, which confused Clíodhna, as hadn’t they just said he was the son of a carpenter? He performed several acts of magic, including rising from the dead.

But then this demigod angered the local chieftains, and they executed him for his actions. His followers took up his cause and spread the word of his work.

Why would this southern desert god care for an island covered in trees and rain? Surely this land lay far away from his power. Still, the tale seemed intriguing, if a bit legendary and ponderous.

Like everyone else she grew up with, the druid in her village taught her to honor the gods with her heart and her mind. Legends of the gods were part of every song and story, lessons taught to each child.

Their druid recited histories at each fire festival, with smaller stories told around the hearth fire at home. Tales of the Dagda, Manannán, Brighid, Macha, and Lugh. These gods and goddesses went on quests, bore children, fell into tragic love, and fought heroic battles. From what she learned of this new god’s life, he seemed relatively boring.

Clíodhna glanced at her daughter, who stared at the monk, entranced in his recitation. Donn also sat in rapt attention. At least they weren’t bickering. Aileran had fallen asleep in her arms, lulled by the monk’s calm voice. Clíodhna loved holding her son like this, the sweet smell of his hair tickling her nose and making her grin.

Maybe she could find a few moments of rest for herself as the monk spoke. His words became a slow rhythm, losing all meaning. Instead, she floated in the darkness, drifting along in wooly comfort.

A loud clap startled Clíodhna awake. Everyone was shuffling to their feet, so she hastily joined them. The monk sang a song with repeated phrases, encouraging those assembled to sing it back.

Again, these words were in that strange language. Clíodhna believed in the power of words and refused to chant something she didn’t understand. A few people glared at her silence, so she mouthed them instead of voicing them.

The instant censure of her neighbors annoyed her. Why must she follow like a sheep? She was just a visitor.

As the song ended, people milled around, chatting and visiting in clumps. She turned to Etromma. Are you ready to leave?

Not yet, Ma. I want to go and see what’s on that table up there.

Donn pulled his shoulders close to his body. I want to talk to the monk. I have a question about his god.

Several monks had set up trestle tables along one side of the building and brought platters of food. This must be the Lovefeast Ita spoke of. It looked delicious after several weeks of little but dried fish and last autumn’s apples and Clíodhna’s stomach rumbled.

Despite her hunger, the press of all those people pushed in on her. The crowd grew oppressive, and her mind spun.

Clíodhna found Ita and put a hand on her arm. I’m a bit dizzy. Ita, I need to go outside. There’s a garden, just the place to clear my head. Can you come fetch me when you’re done?

The blond woman gave a kind smile and nodded. I’m glad you came today.

After hefting Aileran against her other shoulder, she exited the sturdy building. The walls had been well-constructed, at least. No uneven spots or crumbling bits showed.

The garden was laid out in a large grid, with medicinal herbs, food herbs, and vegetables in separate sections. The surrounding edge might have ornamental flowers once spring arrived, but for now, bare bracken guarded the perimeter.

Clíodhna thought this must be a lovely place in the summertime, with butterflies and bees flitting amongst the lush growth. Perhaps she’d come back then to enjoy it.

Do you approve of our garden, then?

Clíodhna whirled to find a monk with dark curly hair and a brown robe regarding her with a half-smile. A dimple in one cheek gave him a roguish air, and the corners of her own mouth turned up. I’m not used to so many people inside. I needed to escape.

He let out a warm chuckle. Perfectly understandable. We’re already building a larger structure, but stone takes longer than wattle and daub. Did you enjoy the service?

Service?

The monk gestured back to the building. That’s what we call this. Service is a daily dedication to God, a sermon, and then a final benediction of song.

She gave a tentative smile, as if she understood. Many of those words were new. Could they be from the new language?

Aileran chose this moment to wake. Instead of a gradual build up, though, he launched straight into an ear-splitting wail.

Clíodhna winced and bounced the child, turning to her companion. I’m so sorry.

He grinned. Not to worry. I’ve a wee boy of my own, just about that age. Alas, he’s away with his mother in another land.

She cocked her head. Another land? Did she not come with you?

No, my wife stayed with her family. She didn’t wish to travel to this dangerous frontier, you see. She prefers the luxury of Rome. So, we divorced, though we remain friends. I miss them both very much.

Aileran settled down after his initial outrage and burbled as she held him close, murmuring to him in a low voice. I’m Clíodhna, and this volatile child is Aileran.

The monk bowed deep, another half-smile on his face as he rose. His dimple reappeared, and his eyes were deep brown. And I am Odhrán. I’m only recently called to God, and this is my first assignment from Palladius.

Assignment?

He closed his eyes briefly. Yes. We each get assigned to a particular area, to speak to those who live there about our God. It’s a mission of peace and information.

Clíodhna had never heard of a peaceful god. Kindly, yes. Good, of course. The Dagda was called The Good God, after all. But peaceful? Tales and legends of the gods dripped with war and betrayal, even worse than real life power struggles. She bit at her lower lip. Maybe war and betrayal were planned for later. Does this mission of peace herald something else?

Odhrán gave a shrug. No, we’re here to spread the word, nothing more. We have no mandate to force anyone to our beliefs.

Clíodhna rarely felt shame, but her cheeks grew warm. I didn’t mean to impugn your word, Odhrán. It’s the concept of a peaceful god that I can’t quite comprehend.

He let out a low chuckle, a gentle sound. That’s fair. God himself has performed plenty of violent acts. However, his son, our Lord Jesus, is a man of peace, and it’s his message we’re spreading.

Is Odhrán a Roman name, then? It sounds local, and you speak our language well for a foreigner.

He gave a half-smile. I was born with a different name but adopted one more familiar to the people here. Many of us do that. It helps us grow closer to the communities we serve. And I learned your language from another man of this land, several winters past.

She’d been about to ask him more about his demigod when Etromma cried out. Let me go! Let me go!

Clíodhna’s eyes grew wide, and she ran to find out what her daughter got herself into. She rushed out of the garden toward the building.

Etromma stood before the entrance, an older monk gripping her upper arm.

Aileran sobbed again at being jounced. She jiggled him to quiet his fussing. Etromma? What’s this?

The older monk, his straggly beard combed into two forks, scowled at her. The impudent girl questioned our Lord’s power!

Clíodhna stood straight. Is that all? For a healthy curiosity, you presume to hurt my daughter? How dare you lay hands upon her!

Odhrán came up behind her, panting from his run. Fachtna, what have you done?

It isn’t me, Odhrán. This creature—

Fachtna! Watch your tongue. These are our hosts, and we must be respectful.

Fachtna curled his lip, still keeping a grip on Etromma’s arm. "The girl did not respect me or our Lord God!"

Etromma let out a whimper, looking toward her mother with entreaty. Clíodhna wondered where Donn had gotten to. Probably off with that girl he was courting, rather than guarding his sister, as he ought.

Her blood began to boil, but just as she was about to launch into a tirade, her new monk friend spoke in a calm but firm tone. Let her go, Fachtna. Your duty is not to discipline non-believers. In fact, if I recall, your specific mission is to help those in need. Am I misremembering?

With a growl, Fachtna released Etromma, who ran to her mother. Clíodhna enclosed her in a hug with her free arm as Aileran began fussing again. She glared at the older monk. I demand an apology. This man has assaulted my daughter with no provocation.

The monk spluttered. No provocation!

Fachtna! You must offer an apology to the woman and her daughter.

By now, several other monks had gathered, drawn by the shouting. Clíodhna spied Ita far in the back, a frown on her face. Most of the monks stood behind Odhrán, but one or two stood behind the other man.

"I must apologize to her?"

Odhrán crossed his arms and planted his feet wide. To both, yes.

Several monks murmured agreement, though they’d have no idea what started this fracas. Odhrán commanded respect and trust from his fellow monks put in him. A man to be watched.

Fachtna mumbled something under his breath.

Odhrán tapped his foot. Louder. We cannot understand your words.

He gave another scowl. I said, I apologize. I should not have touched the... young woman.

Odhrán stared at the older monk for a few more moments before nodding. He turned to Clíodhna, who’d finally managed to quiet Aileran again. Will that suffice, Clíodhna? Or do you require further assurances of his good behavior?

Clíodhna lifted her chin. That will do. Thank you.

With dignity, Clíodhna took Etromma’s hand and walked away, well aware that the entire community of monks, as well as many villagers, were staring at her back.

Chapter Two

Once out of view from prying eyes, Clíodhna let her tears come. They dripped down her cheeks unchecked, since Etromma still held her hand and Aileran was again asleep on her shoulder.

She sniffed twice and glanced back. Etromma, where did Donn disappear to? Do we need to go get him?

Her daughter also had tears on her cheeks. "No, he went to find Mugain, but she’s visiting her aunt, so went back home. I stayed behind to ask more questions. That’s when that man got angry. He started yelling at me, using strange words. He said I would go to a place called Hell. Do you know where that is?"

While swallowing back an angry sob, Clíodhna clenched her fists. No, darling. Maybe it’s where he came from. The monk I talked to said he came from Rome. I’ve heard of Rome, but not of Hell.

They fell into silence as they followed the forest path through bare trees and muddy ground, last autumn’s fallen leaves forming a slippery carpet. When their roundhouse and farm came into view, Etromma released her mother’s hand and ran inside.

Donn came out in an instant, holding the staff he always carried. Ma? What happened? She was fine when I left!

Clíodhna entered the house, put Aileran down in his straw bed, and moved her shoulder back and forth. It’s taken care of, Donn. Pay no mind.