Clíodhna chewed upon that concept, still not understanding. Then she remembered the sacred kings.
In some ancient legends, if the harvest became poor and remained so for several autumns, the tuath might elect a sacred king. This king ruled without bound during a full cycle of the seasons, given anything he desired. Women, food, riches, all things became his. Then, at the end of this cycle, he would be sacrificed with great ceremony and given back to the land, begging the gods to return the land’s health and wealth to those remaining. Clíodhna could see a similar idea within Odhrán’s demigod’s death.
She glanced at the cross on the church, stark and black against the morning sun. Then she noticed someone had carved it in the garden, on a vertical stone. This one had a circle surrounding the top part of it. Clíodhna frowned, concerned at such a dark and brutal sublimation of her beloved sun. “But why do you put the circle around it, like the Druid sun symbol?”
“That only happened here in the northern lands. You already used the cross with the circle as a sacred symbol. We lengthened one arm of it to resemble ours, to make the transition between beliefs less jarring.”
She found this explanation both ingenious and manipulative. This told her his church had both intelligence and ruthlessness. A dangerous combination for any native belief.
Clíodhna glanced at the sun again, worried at how high it had risen. “I thank you for the information, Odhrán, but I must go.”
He put a hand on her arm. “Wait, just for a moment. You aren’t going to rest, are you?”
She flashed him an impish grin.
“May I ask what you use this time for, then? I had hoped to relieve you from work by taking some of the burden from you.”
She sat again and let out a sigh. “And I appreciate and value that help, Odhrán. I do. But I’m taking lessons of my own, lessons I need to help keep my mind and soul intact.”
He narrowed his eyes at her and studied her expression. Whatever he saw there must have satisfied him. “Very well. Perhaps someday you can speak of these lessons to me. In the meantime, have a care. I don’t wish for you to become more frazzled than you must.”
Clíodhna grinned wide. “Speaking with you every day helps me to relax far more than an hour’s nap would. You enrich my mind, Odhrán. I value that.”
The monk smiled back, showing his dimple. “I’m happy to be valued for such a thing. Now run, lest you be late for your lessons.”
* * *
Spring came closer, and Clíodhna still hadn’t decided about Adhna. She lay in bed in the pre-dawn darkness, considering her options.
Adhna acted, in equal measures, harsh and kind as a teacher. She worked hard to please him and master her lessons, but some didn’t come easily, to her intense frustration.
Did she even want him as a lover? His body would please hers, that didn’t worry her. But his alternating flightiness and hardness confused her. Perhaps this flightiness stemmed from his Fae nature shining through, but it might make any intimate relationship challenging.
Was she getting old? When had she ever backed down from a challenge?
With that mindset, Clíodhna threw off her wool blanket and prepared for her day. She pulled on a clean léine, visited the sand basket for her morning pee, washed her face, and walked out into the early morning.
First, she stopped at the stables, to milk the cows. Adhna had taught her how to increase their output, but she only worked magic on one cow each morning. She didn’t know what sort of ill effect this Fae magic might have on her kine, but she didn’t want to risk harming them with her practice.
Clíodhna sat on the low stool and drew in the tingling bits of magic from the earth. It came much too strongly. She struggled to tamp it down, trying not to flood the poor beast with too much power.
The cow lowed and mooed, stamping her hoof as Clíodhna pulled back. Her efforts produced no effect, not even the normal amount of milk.
With a frown, Clíodhna glared at her cow. The cow couldn’t be faulted for her own inability to control her magic, but for now, the bovine remained a symbol of her frustration.
She’d practiced Adhna’s lessons every morning, before greeting the dawn and heading into the village for the new church lecture. Sometimes her efforts resulted in brilliant success, but only about a third of the time. The other times either resulted in no effect at all, or near-disastrous failure.
Clíodhna tried again.
As she drew in the power and forced the small vine into the cow’s body, the milk erupted into a shower, covering both her and the cow with warm wetness. She mopped the white liquid from her face and spluttered, her jaw clenched in grim determination.
At least her efforts in the garden had proved more successful. She glanced over to the herbs and decided she needed to do something which came more easily to calm her prickled pride. She rose, patted the cow on her flank, and stepped into the garden enclosure.
Clíodhna had found she worked best when in direct contact with the earth itself. She sat in the dirt, her legs out straight in front of her, her palms flat on the ground. After drawing in the gentle earth power, she took one faint tendril and touched it onto the garlic plant. Just a feather-touch, nothing heavy or intense. The plant stretched as if a child waking from a deep sleep and grew a fingertip. Moving to the other garlic blossom, she tapped each with the
