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
