The Fae chuckled. “Not I, but the nature spirits. Those you’ve been helping into safety, I would venture to guess. They must have known where I must bring you and expected your needs.”
As if in answer, a tinkling laugh sounded from a dark corner of the cave. Clíodhna narrowed her eyes at the space. “Come out, if you please. I would like to thank you for the gifts.”
Nothing stirred in the gloom.
With slow movements, she bent to test the cow’s udder. The distended skin felt ready to milk, so she gestured to Donn to bring her a vessel. He grabbed the iron pot.
Clíodhna rolled her eyes. “No, silly, never iron. Bring a bowl.”
Chagrined, he did as she bid. She knelt to grasp a teat and squeezed out a small bit of raw milk. Still moving gently, she brought the bowl of milk to the shadowed corner. Placing it on the ground, she retreated from the offering.
The laugh tinkled once more, and the bowl disappeared.
Adhna cocked his head. “They have accepted your exchange, it seems.”
Part II
Chapter Five
Over the course of the next few days, Clíodhna made cautious friends with the local Aos Sídhe. A very young nuckelavee named Ishc, who lived in the stream running through the cave, had supplied most of the utensils, she discovered. The creature hid in the shadows, but occasionally she caught a glimpse of a horse-like shape and a fish’s tail. His skin, though, looked raw, almost as if he only had muscles and bones. He’d likely stolen them from the villagers over many winters, plucked from riverside meals or perhaps traded from other Aos Sídhe. An old, grizzled mine Fae lived in the cave with them, but didn’t respond to gifts or words. They learned to leave him alone. A sweet sídhe lived in a copse of trees near the stone circle but seemed too shy to speak. Clíodhna accepted their gifts, despite her misgivings.
After a half moon had passed, they grew used to their new lives. No monk approached them, nor any human. The ever-present mist clad the hilltop in chilly mystery and enveloped them in a blanket of safety.
Both older children grew cranky and petty after a few days of inaction until Clíodhna sent them both out to hunt and fish each day. This gave them daily tasks to keep their minds and bodies occupied and gave Clíodhna some rest from their complaints.
When the darkness fell, they would discuss plans for the future. If they would have to move to another village, what they would do if someone found them, and if they would go to Faerie if Adhna said they must. Etromma kept her bow to hand in case of any intrusion, while Donn practiced swinging the iron pot and chain so he grew proficient using it as a weapon. Clíodhna asked Etromma to show her the bow, but she didn’t have Etromma’s slender build, and her breasts kept getting in the way.
Clíodhna became thankful for the wee nuckelavee, as he was the chatty sort and could tell outlandish tales. His skin glistened in the dim firelight, brown and green, mottled like a trout. At least he kept them entertained in the liminal hours of dusk. During the full day and deep night, he slumbered beneath in his watery home. He wasn’t as chatty or as playful as the dolphins of her youth, but she felt an odd nostalgia for him.
Still, she felt like a caged bird, unable to spread her wings.
On one such an evening, as the mist darkened into dim twilight, Ishc halted in the middle of his tale. His head popped up and his eyes grew wide, staring at the entrance. Alarmed, Clíodhna turned, clutching a sleeping Aileran to her chest.
The cave mouth appeared empty against the mists swirling outside.
Forcing her heart to stop pounding, she laid Aileran into his sleeping palette, picking up the stout wooden cudgel she’d found in the woods. She gestured for Donn to grab the heavy iron pot. He had shown surprising accuracy swinging it. Etromma picked up her bow and notched an arrow. They’d practiced this response several times, though this was the first time they’d needed to enact their precautions.
No sound came through the mist. She glanced back at Ishc, but the nuckelavee had disappeared into his stream.
Clíodhna’s skin turned clammy in the waiting darkness. Still nothing stirred, but she felt watched, like she had in the woods before. Someone, something, waited out there. She wished Adhna had returned. He came by every five or six days to bring news or supplies. She felt woefully vulnerable with her two half-grown children and a baby to protect.
Her fingers hurt. She hefted her cudgel again, settling it into a more comfortable grip.
Outside, the wind rustled leaves. She strained her ears to hear footsteps, a snuffling animal, a bird wing’s flutter, anything to tell her what lurked near her cave.
Something snapped outside. The noise made her grip her club harder, her nails biting into the rough bark.
Clíodhna glanced at Etromma, stock still with her arrow aimed at the cave mouth. Donn waited on the other side of the mouth, the iron pot swaying on its chain.
A brief, horrible image of Pátraic and his mob finding their cave and trapping them inside flooded through her mind. She tried to quell the panic by pulling on the earth’s magic, to calm her fear and erase her terror. While it didn’t completely work, she could breathe without gasping.
A dark shape loomed in the mist, coming slowly closer to the cave.
When it resolved into a man’s shape, relief flooded through her blood, thinking Adhna had returned. Yet she as he walked closer, she didn’t recognize the creature. His
