Clíodhna climbed down the flagstone path to the riverside and walked downstream. The village lay upstream, and she wanted to be away from people, not amidst them. She’d never been comfortable with crowds of people. In her youth, she’d lived in a larger village near the mouth of an tSionainn, a huge river which emptied into the sea at a great estuary. The river she lived near now emptied into this larger one. While she adored swimming in the ocean or imagining herself flying along the coast with a bird’s wings, she hated the press of the surrounding people. She’d left the trading hub when she married, and never looked back.
The bracken along the river’s edge hid nothing. Squirrels and tiny birds huddled in cages of bare branches, until her footsteps startled them. They scampered and flitted for safety as she drew near.
A large stone perched at a bend in the river. It held a smooth depression where she often sat cross-legged, contemplating the flow of the river. A perfect place to think.
Clíodhna climbed up to the spot, only slipping once on the ice still clinging to the edge of the stone outcropping. The day turned even warmer, almost spring-like. Perhaps the true thaw would come soon.
For several minutes, she did nothing but listen to the water with her eyes closed. She listened to the song of the current and breathed it into her soul. The magic of the natural world flowed through her like the river below, bringing her rest, strength, and confidence.
Every morning, she greeted the dawn and experienced a similar rush of power. Every evening, she said farewell to the sun. Each magic held a different flavor, overlaid with its own characteristics. The dawn burst forth, brilliant and energetic, full of life and hope. Each evening fell somnolent and sly, full of depth and intrigue. The river, though, remained eternal and immutable, promising endurance and strength.
“If you continue to draw power without using it, you might falter.”
Clíodhna whipped around to discover who spoke to her. She didn’t recognize the man, but judged him to be about her own age of thirty-three winters. He wore a full, dark beard with just a wisp of gray in the center. His ink-black, wavy hair wasn’t pulled up in warrior braids, but some of his beard was.
When she rose to confront him, she liked what she saw. He stood tall, lean, and with a mischievous smile on his face. She’d always been fond of men with a strong sense of humor.
She matched his smile. “Did you say something?”
“Indeed I did, Clíodhna. You’re not using your power wisely.”
Her whimsy disappeared in an instant. How did he know her name? Did he live in the village? One of the new monks?
He laughed. “I have no wish to confuse you, dear woman. True, I’m a stranger here, but I’ve known of you for some time. I came to seek you out.”
Clíodhna backed up a step, wishing she didn’t stand on a precarious ledge over a raging river. She saw absolutely nowhere to retreat to. He blocked her passage. Her breath grew shorter and she surreptitiously put her hand on the hilt of the knife she always wore on her belt. “Why do you seek me out?”
He walked forward and she tensed, her hand now gripping the knife handle. Her heart beat faster and power rushed through her. Her skin tingled with it, but she didn’t know how to direct it.
The stranger stopped, frowned, and then took several steps back. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, truly. Come, I will sit over here on this log. If you like, you can leave. Or you can come sit next to me.”
Clíodhna didn’t move, though her heartbeat slowed. Sweat formed on her brow and threatened to drip into her eyes, but she daren’t move to wipe it away.
The man sat on the log as he’d promised and waited. He didn’t fidget or whistle but sat in silent anticipation.
Should she trust him? He possessed knowledge of her. Did he question her children before he came here? Her glance flickered in the direction of her house, concerned that something had happened to Donn, Etromma, and Aileran. She poised on the balls of her feet, ready to flee, when he spoke again.
“I assure you, your children are fine. You need not rush off to them. Your Donn is quite the young man and has everything in hand.”
She didn’t like this. She didn’t like it one tiny bit. But she must discover how he knew her and what he intended. Both for her sake and that of her family.
With a decisive stride, she walked over and sat next to him. She faced him, though, so she could watch his reactions, and her hand remained on her knife. “Very well. Talk.”
“Oh, dear. So prickly! Well, I suppose it’s the best I could hope for, sneaking up on you in the middle of your ritual like that. I shall be certain to avoid such in the future.”
In the future? He presumes much. She crossed her arms, narrowing her gaze.
“You will want to know how I’ve heard of you. Well, I once knew your own parents, long ago.”
Clíodhna clenched her jaw, old pain hammering on her heart. Her parents had died during her childhood. “How long ago? You can’t be much older than I am.”
He laughed, a gentle sound that caressed her ears, trickling over the rocks like a babbling brook. “Oh, my, that’s quite rich. No, Clíodhna. Do not take my appearance as proof of my age.”
This cryptic comment made her head swirl. Little clues began piling in her mind, and she had a suspicion she would need to test.
“May I request something
