“Sing? You enjoy songs?”
His mouth stretched even wider. “It’s my greatest weakness, especially those of mortal women. This has gotten me in much trouble in my life.”
Wondering idly what might trouble a magical creature made of stone, Clíodhna agreed. “I would love to sing you a song. What news do you bring me?”
“I have three pieces of news, one for each child. Would you gift me a song for each?”
“Very well, three songs for three pieces of information.”
“Your daughter, the one with the death iron man? She has made her vows to him and is with child, as you are.”
The death iron man? Oh, he must mean the blacksmith. I understand why he would refer to a man who works with iron, deadly to the Fae. Then the import of his words struck her. Etromma married and pregnant! Our babies will be similar in age. But she had so few winters! Wait, what if time had marched faster there?
“Crunn, how much time has passed in the mortal world since I’ve been here?”
The stone crunched as his smile slipped. “I am not sure how mortals measure time, nor when you arrived.”
“We count the winters as one cycle of the seasons. So, when the mortal world grows cold, that’s one. When it becomes spring, then summer, then autumn, and winter again, that’s two.”
He considered this for some time, touching each of his fingers several times, shaking his head, and trying again. “I do not know.” He hung his head, ashamed of his failure.
“Don’t worry. I’ll ask Adhna. He’s got a good grasp of mortal time and should be better able to answer. What is your second piece of news?”
“Your older male child has also vowed, but with the men of the new god. He is a skilled craftsman, and the men sent him away to work on a new stone structure in the north.”
In the north. Perhaps the same place Odhrán went, to start a new church? Would he remember Odhrán and speak of her? “And your third news?”
“The baby male child has grown. He seems happy, as he laughs often. He’s become skilled with handling horses, and rides fast and long each day.”
Aileran riding horses spoke more of the passage of time than any of the other news. If her wee baby, who had just been sucking at her breast a few moons ago by her reckoning, raced horses now, at least ten winters had passed.
Grief at losing those winters for all her children struck her hard. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she swallowed them down for her guest’s sake. How rude she would be to cry in front of her messenger.
“I might even have a fourth bit of news.”
Fourth? Did he speak of Oisinne? Or maybe Odhrán had returned? “Will you take a fourth song for it?”
With a slow nod, he agreed. “Yes, but it must be a special song. This information was difficult to extract.”
Intrigued, Clíodhna agreed. “Four songs, with one being extra special.”
“There is a female in your home. She moved in when you disappeared, and the children moved away. She did not live there before.”
Not Oisinne, then. “Can you describe the woman?”
“She has great power. Red hair, strong arms, pale skin, spots on her face.”
“Freckles, do you mean?” Clíodhna pointed to the ones on her own arm.
Crunn nodded with such vigor, his chin crackled. “Freckles, yes. She picks herbs and has a cow with red ears.”
What an odd description. She searched her mind for a memory of such a woman, but didn’t recall ever having met someone like that. With a shake of her head, Clíodhna decided she must have taken over their roundhouse when they’d abandoned it. As peeved as she might be about the theft, she could do little about it, from Faerie.
Her back ached again, and she groaned when the pain slammed into her spine. Crunn jumped up, his gaze darting around to find the threat.
“No, nothing attacked me, Crunn. My back hurts, that’s all.”
“No, no, no! Your child is coming! Your child is coming! I must fetch her! Adhna made me promise I’d fetch her!”
Before Clíodhna had the chance to ask what in the name of the gods he meant, he ran to the pond and disappeared beneath the surface again. The ripples died as the pain traveled up her spine and down her legs. She stumbled toward the roundhouse, her carving project abandoned. With a great deal of grunting and cursing, she crawled to her pallet and lay down, hoping to relieve some painful pressure on her back. Crunn needed to return so she could pay him with her songs.
It didn’t help.
The agony rose along her torso and down her legs, making her feet tingle as if she’d crossed them too long. Her arms burned and sweat dripped from her face. She couldn’t do this alone! Adhna had promised to find a midwife when her time came. Perhaps that’s who Crunn had disappeared to fetch. She hoped so.
* * *
Clíodhna didn’t know how long she lay in bouts of aching and panting before someone arrived. Time lost all meaning when each breath came with agonizing pain, a burning throb through her body. No sun meant the afternoon didn’t wane. No birds heralded the dawn. No night clothed the hills in darkness. No relief came to her, despite all her curses, prayers, and pleading.
When someone darkened the roundhouse door, she blinked several times, certain either her imagination fooled her or some threat arrived she couldn’t battle in her state. A woman stood in silhouette, glaring at her. “You shouldn’t have started this yet, child! Well, done is done. Let me fetch
