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,
