Clíodhna sat in her alcove, contemplating what she should do that evening. Odhrán had asked that she join him in the garden. She often met him there and talked deep into the night. He should be sleeping, but he stole time for her. She looked forward to it, but he could not meet her until dusk.
Some days, she grew weary of her work here in the mortal realm, and she ached to return to Faerie, as if the very land called her back. It simmered as a slow-burning need, an itch that called for constant scratching. A low hum only heard within her heart.
Clíodhna glanced at her shelves and took out the small white fabric package. After unwrapping it, she traced the intricate gold and silver traced animal shapes on the brooch.
Adhna had once told her she needed to pass the brooch on to someone else. She couldn’t choose Rumann. Donn and Etromma remained far in the north. Rumann’s eldest sons subsisted in dim cruelty. She’d seen it in their bullying of Fingin. Patraic Óg? She shook her head. His name was too repugnant to her. It wasn’t the lad’s fault, but Clíodhna shuddered whenever she heard that name. There was magic in names, after all. How could she gift the Fae brooch to someone who had persecuted her so in his own God’s name?
Fingin remained her best choice. But he still had so few winters, just eight. Would he be old enough to handle such power? Would he be able to command power like hers, the ability to call up storms at will? No, Adhna had said each magical talent would be different.
The room grew dim. Clíodhna glanced up and saw someone darkening the doorway. As if the thought of him had conjured the Fae, Adhna stood smiling at her. She rose to greet her love in a warm embrace. “Adhna, how did you know I thought of you?”
He glanced down at the brooch in her hand. “Do you need to ask? I’m connected with the magic in that brooch. Of course, I came when you held it and performed such intense consideration.”
Ruefully, she looked at the piece of jewelry. Imbued with Adhna’s own magic, why wouldn’t it would act as a summoning? She wondered how long such connection would last, or if it would fade with time. “I was just thinking I should choose someone to gift it to, as you suggested.”
He cupped her cheeks in his hand and gave her a gentle kiss to the lips. “You are wise to consider. In fact, the brooch wasn’t the only thing that called me back to you. Faerie needs you to return.”
Panic flooded her imagination. “Why? What’s Bodach done? Is Cerul in trouble? Gabha? What about Grimnaugh?”
“Calm down, Clíodhna. Nothing so dire. Yes, Bodach has been stirring up trouble. With the throne empty, he’s been riling up the lesser Fae and influencing the higher court. He’s glommed onto that poor lad, Ammatán, intent on turning him into an agent of madness. Cerul has tried to counteract his efforts, but she’s limited by her power. Despite his defeat, he’s still the strongest of the courtiers, and with you gone, the strongest in Faerie. The longer you’re gone, the more the other Fae believe his lies. We need you back before he gathers too many other powerful courtiers to his side.”
She chewed on her lower lip. “That means I must gift the brooch to Fingin before I leave. I can never come back.”
Adhna gave her a sad smile. “That is true, my dearest love. I’ll help you with that transfer, and then I must bring you home.”
* * *
Adhna left to wait for them at the standing stones. Clíodhna braided her hair and wound it around her head. She’d had to deal with it in the wind enough times that she knew how to prepare for what would be a weather-heavy event. She sought Fingin, who mucked out the stables.
“Fingin! Stop that now. I have something for you.”
The boy ran to her and tossed the pitchfork against the roundhouse, near the door. After recalling her own pain when Adhna had gifted her the brooch, she hoped it wouldn’t hurt the lad too badly. She didn’t dare tell him what they’d be doing but had to trust in the boy’s obedience and sense of adventure. He had a natural curiosity to go with his sympathy for the Fae. That should help.
She led him up the path, past the looming guardian stones, and into the stone circle. Adhna stood in the woods with his staff, hidden by the summer leaves, but Clíodhna caught his gaze. He nodded once and she took in a deep breath.
The twelve stones reached for the sky in the growing dusk. Clíodhna drew in the wind as they approached, making the clouds swirl in the overhead darkness. She took Fingin’s hand, sensing the boy’s rising terror, and held tight. She wished she could gift him some confidence, some bravery, but he’d have to learn that on his own. The only thing she could give him tonight would be the legacy of the brooch.
Thunder boomed close at hand and the temperature dropped. Wind tugged at their clothing and Clíodhna patted her tightly braided hair.
Inside the circle, she crouched to speak to her grandson. “Stand here, boy. You must stay here, no matter what happens. Do you understand? I have some work to do before the ceremony.”
“Ceremony?”
“Shush now! All will be clear in time.”
While pulling the wind around her, she walked the perimeter of the stones. Adhna had taught her the words in the language of their ancestors, words of power that unlocked the energy of the stones. The sparks of power flowed through her body and out of her fingers as she encircled the stones once, twice, three times. While
