Without warning, he kicked her in the knee. Pain shot through her leg and she dropped to the floor, trying hard not to cry out. Donn took Oisinne’s arm and led him to the table, throwing a concerned glance over his shoulder. Clíodhna reassured him with a wave of her hand and gripped her knee. The pain already receded, so it must not be a break. The quickness of the blow had been unnerving.
She hobbled to the table, pulling out the cheese and bread for their morning meal. At least he’d gotten the same leg she’d already twisted.
Etromma went out the door into the dawn to milk the cows, Aileran on her hip.
Oisinne stared at the flatbread in front of him. “Clíodhna! What is this you’re feeding me?”
“Rye bread, Oisinne. And here’s some soft garlic cheese to spread on it.”
He flung the bread on the floor and stomped on it. Then he scooped his fingers in the cheese and smeared it on his face. He laughed with maniacal glee and smeared more on her face.
Clíodhna debated trying to use the spell Adhna had taught her but remembered his cautions. She should only use it in need, not for convenience. After clenching her jaw, she wiped off the wasted cheese.
He hopped around and said, in a sing-song voice, “Time to go to church!”
With a glance at the rising sun and a promise to honor it when she had time, Clíodhna hustled her husband out the door. With luck, Etromma and Donn could escape today’s service and have some quiet time to themselves. They’d get a lot more of the farm work done without their father interfering. He often made things worse by trying to help.
The sun had barely shot out rays of peach-gold light from behind the hills when they arrived at the small church. Only a few people already stood inside, but she cast a smile at Ita, who stood with two of her children. Her neighbor frowned, glancing at Oisinne, and Clíodhna didn’t blame her. The morning had already started poorly and Clíodhna anticipated a rocky day. She answered Ita’s frown with a sad shrug. Her friend steered her pregnant daughter to the other side of the church.
Abbot Pátraic stood at his dais. After his Latin chanting, he didn’t launch into his normal lecture. Instead, he stared at several of the villagers, his gaze lingering long on Clíodhna.
“It has come to my attention that several people have been consorting with evil.”
Each attendee exchanged glances, as if wondering whom he spoke of. Clíodhna, however, stood stock still. She knew, somehow, the Abbot spoke of her.
“Spirits and creatures of evil inhabit the woods and streams of our village, and trafficking with them is against the good words of our Lord God. He forbids such interactions, upon pain of being unworthy of God.”
Now he glared straight at Clíodhna. She steeled her spine and glared right back.
Forgotten by his wife, Oisinne let out a high-pitched giggle and jumped toward Pátraic. Startled, the Abbot drew back, but his attacker didn’t strike him. Instead, he stood upon the altar, shoving the candlestick to the floor. Pátraic cried out and dove to rescue his precious silver candlestick. This allowed Oisinne time to dance on the table, and pull his léine off over his head.
Now naked except for his leather boots, he raised his arms as if offering a supplication to the gods. He let out a deep peal of laughter, something ominous and dark. The sound bounced from the walls and several of the villagers milled around with nervous anticipation. A few escaped through the door, while others looked on with gleeful expectation of what Oisinne might do next.
Clíodhna wanted to pull him down and drag him home, but she stayed rooted to her place.
Her husband spun around a few times, the small altar rocking under his weight. He leapt down and ran outside, still with no clothing on. Clíodhna, finally able to move, hurried to catch him. Someone laughed with a nasty cackle as she ran outside.
The mist had risen with the sun. Golden beams of light made her naked husband almost glow as he sprinted through the village, pointing at each roundhouse when he passed, shouting out nonsense words and imprecations.
Heads poked out of each house at his passing. Some returned to their homes, while others emerged and chased after Oisinne.
What should I do? How can I catch him? He’s much stronger than me and I can’t run as fast with my injuries. Besides the harm that might come to my baby. Her hand strayed to her stomach.
As she considered her options, a hand gripped her arm. Clíodhna swung around to confront this new threat and came face to face with Abbot Pátraic.
“You are the reason for his condition, Clíodhna. Your own infidelities caused this, and consorting with the evil that lies beneath the hills. God has spoken, and you are being punished for your crimes against him!”
Several of the villagers had gathered around them and heard his accusations. A couple murmured agreement, though a few frowned at his harsh words.
Clíodhna drew in a deep breath. “You know nothing about me and my family, Abbot Pátraic. I suggest you pay more attention to your own affairs.”
“Every person in this village is my affair, woman! I will not have your wastrel ways infecting honest, God-fearing people.”
She laughed in his face, throwing her head back in genuine mirth. “Wastrel ways? What does that even mean?”
A crash from near
