She mumbled some reassurance before succumbing to exhausted sleep.
Clíodhna’s dreams haunted her since Bodach’s visit, filled with images of wealth, treasure, and inhuman delights but also exquisite torture and yearning hunger.
She drifted in and out of consciousness, her recovery slow and painful. Her stomach gripped with throbbing pain, keeping her from true rest. She feared for her pregnancy. Tossing and turning even as she slept, a few times she even rose without waking, stumbling into the cave walls.
After the second incident, Donn fashioned twine into a net. He tied it over her as she slept to keep her flailing and wandering down. The first time she woke thus restrained, she screamed, certain she remained in her dream, held by the bark-skinned Fae.
Her scream echoed against the cavern walls, bouncing and increasing with each breath, making her screech even harder. The sound hurt her head and she clutched at her ears, rocking back and forth to ease the anguish.
Both children rushed to her side, kneeling to hug her.
Etromma whispered in her ear. “Ma, it’s fine! You’re fine. You’re awake. Nothing is wrong. We’re safe.”
The cries receded into the distance, all the sounds drumming against the inside of her skull and fading into a dull ache. Etromma brought Aileran to feed and Clíodhna fell once again into restless slumber.
Days passed like this, and still she did not regain her full senses.
Donn and Etromma’s voices drifted into her hearing, concern and uncertainty clear in their voices. Clíodhna concentrated on their words, trying to make sense of them. Reason and order seeped into her thoughts.
Etromma sobbed. “What if she never gets better? Should we take her to the healer in the village?”
“No, no, never that! The Abbot would take us away.”
“But what should we do?”
Donn clicked his tongue. “Maybe we can find Adhna? He had magic. He might cure her.”
“But how do we call him?”
“I’m not sure. Let me think about it.”
Clíodhna wanted to tell them Adhna didn’t come when called, like a hound. He arrived when he wished, like the clouds. She might call the clouds now, with the rain, thunder, and lightning. It occurred to her that she should have used that against Bodach, but how do you pull wind into a cave? She’d drawn on the earth magic, all she had access to in the cave, to protect herself and her family, rather than air magic.
Would she get the chance to learn more about air magic when Adhna returned?
She licked her lips, dry and cracked. When she tried to ask for water, only a raspy croak emerged. Etromma leapt to her side.
“Ma? Ma, what do you need?”
“Wa-er.”
Her daughter fumbled around for a moment before pressing the water skin to her mouth. “We got you to drink when you woke, but you never made sense.”
The sweet, cool liquid dribbled down her cheek and into her throat. Clíodhna drank a little, swished it around in her mouth, and drank some more. After her thirst had been slaked, she pushed herself up onto her elbows. “How long?”
Her children exchanged glances. “A while. But you sound better now.”
Frowning, she pressed. “How long did I sleep?”
Another nervous glance, and Donn answered, “Eight nights.”
Bolting upright, Clíodhna swore. “Eight nights? Son of a diseased donkey. Eight nights!” She searched for Aileran, but he slept in his bed. Her breasts felt normal, so Etromma must have placed him there for feeding. The children seemed unharmed, though their expressions were marked with concern. Eight nights!
Flashes of memory seeped into her mind, wrestling with each other and jockeying for attention. She couldn’t tell if they were real memories, dream images, or something different. Clutching her head, she scrunched her eyes shut, trying to block the visions and noises assaulting her.
When she emerged again from the chaos, both children had her in a tight hug.
Someone darkened the cave entrance, and she tensed, expecting Bodach’s return. Instead, a stranger stood glowering. Hairy and unkempt, he looked like a wild man.
Etromma stood and snatched her bow from where it had dropped. “Who are you?”
Donn retrieved his iron pot on its chain. Clíodhna didn’t attempt to rise, knowing her legs would fail her after so many nights of inaction. Instead, she scowled at the intruder, waiting for his answer.
How had this man found them? Adhna had assured her the cave lay hidden from anyone in the village. Humans should not be able to discover the path. Bodach had found them, but he had been Fae.
The rough stranger grunted, an animal sound, neither word nor response. His gaze swiveled from Etromma to Donn and finally rested on Clíodhna. “I know you.”
She exchanged glances with each of her children, searching for some knowledge of the man. Etromma shrugged, while Donn visibly gulped. Something in his voice, though, touched a memory. If only hers hadn’t been scrambled from her recovery, perhaps she’d be able to place where she remembered him from. If she knew him.
He grunted again, a noncommittal noise that might mean anything. Then he let out a gravelly cough of a growl, dribbling some spittle into his tangled beard. A wave of noisome rot reached Clíodhna, and she coughed at the stench.
He lifted a gnarled, dirty finger and jabbed it in her direction. “You. You’re my wife.”
Clíodhna grasped at the memories she held of her husband. Branches and leaves stuck in his tangled beard and hair, dressed in gray and brown rags, with dirt rubbed deep into the creases of his skin. He’d not even been gone a cycle of the seasons. How had he become this… this creature? He looked like a wild Fae, something from the depths of the undergrowth, a forest sídhe.
And yet, his eyes held a hint of a twinkle, of
