She’d failed her friend. Unsure of what else she could do, she walked back to her home.
Adhna waited for her and said nothing as he enfolded her in his arms. Relieved at not having to explain what happened, she allowed his words to calm her, his soft hands and soft lips. She trembled with the memory of her own ineffectuality and uncertainty for her future. This Abbot had already become a community leader, and therefore a dangerous man to cross.
“Stop thinking of him, Clíodhna. I am here to help you and your children.”
Unexpected and unwanted tears pricked the back of her eyelids. “He hates me, Adhna. He’ll find a way to hurt me. I know that sort of person. I could see it in his eyes.”
“Fear not. I will show you how to withstand his power with your own.”
She bit at her lower lip. What would she do, call down the lightning to smite him? Such an idea seemed ludicrous. And yet, she’d called the storm yesterday. Dissipating it hadn’t been quite as effortless, but she’d done it once. Perhaps she could do it again, with some practice.
She steeled herself, chastised her tears, and straightened her back. “Very well, Adhna. Teach me.”
* * *
Adhna covered his face with his hands. “No, Clíodhna, not like that, like this! Just a slight touch. You need to tamp down the power and only draw the slightest amount of earth energy into the cow. Otherwise, you might make her milk curdle in her udder. Now, watch again.”
Clíodhna watched in her mind as the tiny tendril of energy, barely wider than a strand of hair, emerged from the ground. Adhna coaxed it up the cow’s leg and through to her udder, expanding into a gossamer net. The net pulsed with the earth’s heartbeat, glowing and fading with precise power.
When Adhna released the tendril, it dissipated into the earth, and the cow’s udder, before empty of milk, almost burst with readiness. Clíodhna grabbed a pail and relieved the poor cow.
“That, my dear, will be the sweetest milk you’ve ever tasted, I assure you. Now, try again.”
“Let me use another cow. This one will be tired.”
“As you prefer.”
She moved the black and white animal into the main pen and pulled her sister into place. With several tries, she pulled the strand of energy up, but not into the cow’s leg. Instead, it whipped around like an eel, flailing as if searching for the ocean.
“Put it back! Put it back. Now, relax, breathe in, and try again.”
This time, the hair-strand of energy found the cow’s leg, but it shot up her flank and flashed, making the cow cry in pain.
“Stop, stop! Watch me again.”
Three times he showed her the right balance of power and delicate touch. She finally got the power into the right place and formed a mesh around the udder. After harnessing her own heartbeat, she set it to pulse. It contracted tight, too tight. The cow cried again and her rear legs buckled. Horrified at what she’d done, Clíodhna let the power go. It snapped to her and knocked her back so hard she fell. In a moment of painful solidarity, she apologized to the cow.
The cow survived and rose again, only limping a little.
Adhna drummed his fingers on a rock. “That’s enough for now. I’ll leave you to practice, but not on a living creature. Use…” he scanned the farm yard, “use that bush over there. It’s a rowan bush, so will offer a good amount of resistance to Fae magic. That should increase the challenge without risking one of your kine. I must take care of some errands. I shall be back tomorrow.”
Without waiting for her response, he left.
Clíodhna gritted her teeth, glaring at the cow. Not that the cow had done anything wrong. Her own inability to master the delicacy of this magic made her fume. She’d rarely had to work so hard at mastering a simple technique. Her fists clenched in frustration. She grabbed the stool she’d fallen off of and stomped over to the rowan bush.
Ten times she practiced teasing the tendril of magic from the earth. Ten times, it fought her, trying to writhe from her grasp. Clíodhna only had better control over it if the power came thicker, stronger, and more powerful. When tiny, it remained elusive and recalcitrant, eager to fight her control.
After grinding her teeth, she tried an eleventh time.
A rustle in the trees behind her made her whirl. She scanned the area for any movement, her senses tense for any further sound. Nothing moved.
Incredibly self-conscious, Clíodhna returned her gaze to the rowan bush, but remained aware of the surrounding area. Certain something watched her, she did nothing abrupt or unusual. She sat on her stool, observing the rowan bush.
Another sound made her fall out of concentration. This time, Ita strode toward her house from the opposite direction. With a final glance over her shoulder, she rose to greet her neighbor.
“Clíodhna! I haven’t seen you for a few days. Is all well?”
She hugged Ita, grateful for the distraction. “Well enough, and you? Come in for a drink of cool ale. The day has turned warm.”
They entered the roundhouse and, while occupied with the motions of pouring small ale for them both, she studied Ita. The other woman seemed tense. Her shoulders felt tight, and she didn’t relax when she sat. Something seemed out of place.
After they both sipped their drinks, Ita sighed. “I’m sorry to come so quickly to the point, but I must ask what happened the other day. Wild rumors are flying, and I want to find out the truth.”
With narrowed eyes, Clíodhna asked, “What have you heard?”
Ita fluttered her hand.
