Caledonia Fae 03 - Enemy of the Fae (7 page)

He did notice that the further they went, the larger the rooms were and the more complex the configurations of rune stones inside. Some time later, Ríona stopped in front of an entrance. Inside stood a tall monolith of familiar grey stone. This piece had certainly been outside a long time; the elements had smoothed it.

Ríona approached the tall stone with reverence. She circled the arrangement and ran her hand along the surface, caressing the carved runes.

“Wouldn’t you find it easier to copy the runes onto paper and store them in a book? We must have passed hundreds of rooms that only had one stone inside.”

“You think we’re wasting space?”

He crossed his arms and gestured toward the immense, upright slab. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “I don’t mean you should get rid of them. I just wonder if this is an efficient way to store information.”

“Let me show you something,” she said and ran her fingers delicately over the stone until she found one particular rune. “Recognise the shape?”

He did. The lines were the same as those on his token. “Eilidh,” he said softly.

Ríona shook her head. “No. This is
teinntreach
. It means this.” She raised a finger toward the ceiling and tiny sparks flew out of her hand. “But bigger,” she added with a smile.

“How can one rune mean two different things?”

“One rune can mean a dozen different things, or a hundred.” She tapped the carved symbols above
teinntreach
, below, and on either side. “These change the meaning of the rune, as does the stone itself. But most important is the intent of the one who created it and the magic he imbued into the heart of the object. If a rune creator copied this configuration onto paper,” she said, gesturing to the five runes, “they may mean something closer to your words
burn
or
tinder
. We may use many subtly different phrases to describe various types of burning, and
teinntreach
would be only one. Some creators are more gifted than others, naturally.”

“So inscribing runes has nothing to do with the fae language?”

“Not really, no. This stone contains power of its own, a message bestowed by the rune’s creator.”

“But could you write down the language of the fae without these runes? Do you ever make a written translation?”

“Of course we have script. But why would we transcribe the meaning when we can come touch the stone’s magic for ourselves?”

“Can you teach me?”

She shook her head. “I could show you individual runes. With much time and patience, I might instruct you in the influences and strengths of each one and how they push their meaning onto those around them. Sadly, I can’t teach you to hear the creator’s voice through the stone. Every fae child learns this before they learn to recognise even one symbol. I’m sorry.”

Munro tried to shrug it off, but he felt a sense of loss. Somewhere in his mind, he’d started to entertain the idea of a new pursuit. Thanks to the bonding magic, he would live hundreds of years, or so he’d been told. He had time to learn. “So what’s this story about? Sparks?” he asked lightly, trying to cover his disappointment.

“I know this tale well,” Ríona said. “It gives an account of a battle.” She touched the
teinntreach
rune. “An ancient battle fought against human swords of iron.” Her fingers glanced the surrounding runes, then moved outward from each of them. “A borderlands battle between a group of slaves and the fae of Andena. The Andenan queen died that day.”

Munro raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He was surprised to learn the fae had ever dabbled in slavery. The practice seemed such a contrast to their seemingly noble ideals. On the other hand, humans had many barbaric events in their comparatively short history.

The faerie woman became lost in the story. She described the cuts made with cold iron and the rumbling of earth magic as both slaves and their fae masters dealt killing blows. Sometimes, she would backtrack and go a different direction, following the runes around the slab as though following a path through the woods.

Munro was fascinated by the process. He listened intently as she worked, watching her circle the stone, feverishly relaying the story as though it was happening at that very moment. She became animated, excited, and unlike any faerie he’d ever met. When she finished the story, her eyes danced, as though she’d been caught up in the battle. She frowned when the tale ended, appearing reluctant to finish. For some long minutes, she walked around the stone, touching each of the runes, searching for any last scrap of meaning.

“Nothing about druids then?” he asked.

She looked at him for a long moment, then glanced away. “It surprises me there is nothing helpful here, considering how our people were once tied together. I had thought if I listened to this particular story again with bonding magic in mind, I may hear something new.”

“There will be more runes,” he said, wanting to soothe her disappointment and cover for his own.

She nodded. “This library contains thousands more. Tens of thousands. We have a lifetime of runes to interpret. After you and I have listened to them, another scholar may give you new insights to the same stories. Do not despair. This was our first night. Come. Let us go to the Caledonian Hall. Prince Griogair kindly arranged for quarters where we can eat and rest a while. Listening to runes can be tiring. After the darkest hour, we will return and find another story, if you like.”

When he’d arrived tonight, he’d thought this project would take days, or maybe weeks. It wasn’t until this moment he realised they may need years to learn much of use. Why would Griogair be in such a rush to get him started, saying the druids’ work was so important? He must realise they had no hope of finding anything critical right away.

“Ríona,” he began, thinking back to what Griogair said about the rune on the prison wall. “When does a rune mean nothing?”

“When it is empty,” she said.

“I’ve heard this phrase before, but I don’t understand.” He followed her out and along the maze-like corridors. Then suddenly the realisation hit. “When there’s no magic imbued in the creation.”

“Correct. The intent, the voice, any contextual runes, and the surface carry most of the meaning for any text.”

“Could it carry a message anyway? Infer some subtle communication from the subtext?”

She considered, then shook her head. “I’d have to see the rune to know for certain, but it’s not our way. Without the magic, a rune is a shell. It has potential but tells no story, like a skeleton with no meat, no pulse, no mind or face.” She led him to the exit, and Munro started to recognise some of the early rooms he’d seen on the way in. “Have you seen such a rune somewhere?” she asked.

Eilidh had forbidden him from speaking about the murder, but she hadn’t needed to. He had been a cop, and he knew the value of keeping his trap shut. “Just wondering,” he said. “Griogair said something once, and I didn’t know what he meant.”

“We have a saying,
as cold as an empty rune
. Was that the expression he used?”

Munro nodded. “Something like that, yeah.”

Ríona chuckled softly. “Who would have thought?” she muttered to herself.

He opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but they arrived at the library entrance. She turned and cut him off before he could speak. “Can you find your way from here?” she asked. “I wish to confer with the keepers about our next text. I will meet you at the Hall when the boar bites the goat.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “When?” He still hadn’t learned to tell time by the stars.

“I am the one who should apologise. Eat. Rest. I will find you soon.” She bowed slightly, then added with a low voice, “I’m finding it strangely easy to forget you are not fae.”

He nodded and thanked her for her help, then turned and began his ascent up the winding stairs. He heard that a lot from faeries. They were surprised at how much he’d started to look like them. His skin, his eyes, even the small points on his ears. He’d have thought that as soon as he opened his mouth, they’d have trouble forgetting what he was. He supposed it went to show that humans and faeries might have some cultural differences, but once they got past them, they weren’t that different.

When he arrived at the gates to the Caledonian Hall, a steward informed him he had a message from Eilidh. The queen, the messenger said, would be visiting several small Caledonian cities with her consort and would not require his presence until they returned.

He glanced in the direction of the portal. How long would he be without her, without feeling much beyond her presence or hearing her voice? Why would she do this? He went over their recent conversations in his mind. They hadn’t had an argument. Besides Leith’s murder, nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He debated returning to the courtyard and passing through the portal. He wouldn’t have to follow her. Their bond would tell him where she was and how she felt the instant he set foot in the kingdom. He wanted some reassurance she was all right.

With a shake of his head, he thanked the messenger and entered the Hall. Of course she would be fine. She travelled with Griogair and was surrounded by Watchers, elders, and advisors.

For some reason, those reassurances didn’t quiet his doubts.

Flùranach’s head blazed with pain. Distant voices beckoned, but exhaustion kept her from trying to understand them. Her neck ached and shards of bright light filtered through her eyelids, piercing her eyes. How many days had passed?

She opened her mouth but only managed a croaking whisper.

“Here,” a woman’s voice said soothingly. “Some nectar will help.”

The woman slipped her hand behind Flùranach’s head and tilted it. Drops of silky, sweet liquid spread warmth as they dribbled past her lips.

The whispers returned, coming from another place, another time. Flùranach wanted to shut them out, but they wouldn’t relent.
What were they saying?

Blackness enveloped her again, and the dark places teemed.

For two weeks, Munro and Ríona returned to the library every night and worked until nearly dawn, taking breaks during the night only to eat. After two nights, he’d begun using the Watchers at the Hall to relay messages to Eilidh, to ask if she had returned and wanted him back in Caledonia. He received quick replies telling him she was travelling, busy with matters of state, and suggested he continue his studies. After five nights, a steward brought a sealed message. He opened it in his private room in the Caledonian Hall. Immediately, he recognised her light, flowing handwriting.

I too find it difficult to be parted, my druid, especially since the portal has dampened our connection, but these are difficult times. My current travels will keep me away from Canton Dreich for at least another quarter moon. I will send for you when the time is right. Please do not relay any more messages until then, unless your need is urgent. You must understand.

Do not try too hard to interpret my words, as I know is your way.

She signed the letter with the same rune that appeared on her token. He stared at the glyph. Something stirred within him. Even though it took the same form as her name, he discerned immediately this signature didn’t mean
eilidh
, but he wasn’t certain
how
he knew. He read the note again, this time noticing a smudge under the phrase
interpret my words
. Was this Eilidh’s way of sending him a coded message?

He couldn’t ask Ríona. His instincts told him the message was for him alone. But Eilidh knew he couldn’t hear the magic in runes, so how could she expect him to translate it? He considered folding the paper in half and showing Ríona only the signature, but she likely would ask where the message came from and who wrote it.

The image of the rune danced in his head and pulled at his heart. Something lived in the marks on the page, but he couldn’t complete the puzzle.

He continued going to the library every night with Ríona. They listened to thirty-seven more rune groups, each an earlier part of history than the one before. Fascinating stuff, but so far their work hadn’t brought them any closer to learning about druidic magic. When he was alone, Munro would pull Eilidh’s letter out of his pocket and stare at her signature.
Why did it call to him?
The rune seemed to burn on the page, kindling an image of the passion he and Eilidh shared.

Trying to keep focused on his work, he couldn’t help but wonder what they were actually looking for, night after night. So when he next met Ríona in the library, he asked her, “What is the rune for bonding?”

She glanced at him with a slight frown he couldn’t interpret. “We have many,” she said cautiously. “Every union has a story. I would need to know the tale.”

He nodded but didn’t answer. He wanted to tell her about the ancient words he and Eilidh had said to one another, but something told him to wait. Many faeries reacted strongly when they realised the level of commitment he and Eilidh had forced upon them with the ritual. He didn’t want to distract from the purpose at hand.

“What about the symbol for druid?”

“Come,” she said. “Let me take you to the room where we introduce fae students to listening.”

Instead of going to the back rooms as usual, she took him behind the stairs to a long corridor. It appeared much like chambers on the far side. Within each, groups of faeries gathered around rune pillars.

“These are teaching stones,” Ríona explained. “They do not tell stories. Tutors and mentors use them to illustrate how runes work together.”

She guided him to an empty side room. They sat at a low, smooth table covered with blank slates of many varieties: wood, grey stone, sandstone, even glass. A neat tray held tools like small, straight wands the size of a pencil, each with a differently shaped tip.

“I must confess, I’m not a gifted creator. Few fae are anymore. The talent has grown thin in our bloodlines. All the more reason we treasure the ancient stones.” She chose a stone tablet and a stylus with a wide nib. Her hand floated over the stone, and she pressed. “I can show you the markings at least.” The hard surface gave way under her fingers like putty. A series of lines began to take shape. For long minutes, she fully formed the one symbol. When she completed it, Ríona held the tablet up to show him. “Druid.
Sglàbhadh
,” she said.