Born of Oak and Silver (The Caradoc Chronicles) (5 page)

After we had eaten, my mother stood in the kitchen cleaning the dishes and my father, Bram, and
I continued to sit at the table. The lamps had been lit, and the warm glow added to our contentment. Father and Bram talked of nothing but Bram’s trip to Paris. We’d just learned that was where he had been, and as he’d just announced, he’d brought gifts. At Bram’s insistence, Mother left her pots and pans and joined us at the table. 

From a leather satchel that had been hidden
beneath his coat, Bram removed a large paper-covered parcel wrapped with twine. His mouth bore an amused smile as he caught sight of my parents attempting to mask their curiosity with mature indifference. He cut the twine with his iron dagger, the wrapping fell away revealing three other similarly wrapped packets, each of varying size and shape. These he divvied out.

The package he placed on the table before me was quite small, but I paid little mind to that fact as I made quick work of the fastening and pa
per. Once opened, I stared wide-eyed at what lay before me.

Inside of the wrapping were two unexpected things.

A large—meaning both in mass and that it would fit a man well—and heavy, metal ring. The entirety of which was ornately carved with connecting Celtic knots and almost nonexistent symbols that I couldn’t decipher let alone be sure were actually there. On what was to be the front of it, a substantial, oblong sapphire had been set.

Surely this was meant for my father and not for me. I looked at Bram and found him watching me. His head gave only the slightest of nods.

Tentatively, I took the ring. I held it in my small fingertips, raising it toward the light and marveling as the sapphire sparkled in the lamplight. Gently, I slid it onto my finger. Instantly, I felt the all too familiar hum begin to echo in my bones. I placed it back on its wrapping, breathing heavily with confusion. I turned to my parents, seeking their reassurance, but found them otherwise occupied.

Bram had given my father two new books, a gift he considered worth more than was measurable. To my mother, he’d given a delicate gold and diamond cross, as well as a note indicating that three bolts of expensive fabric would soon be arriving for her directly from
Paris.

It was with reluctance that I tur
ned my head away from my parents’ happiness to look again at Bram. He eyed me expectantly. The shadow of the ancient being I’d seen before lurked plainly in his eyes. I was sure of it, he had known what I’d felt when I’d put the ring on my finger. But my parents had not noticed a thing.

I swallowed heavily, looking away from his relentless stare, and back down at the ring on the paper. That was when I discovered his second gift, the twisting
iron chain of a necklace.

I was
afraid to touch either of them.

Bram’s voice then came to me solidly, though it wa
s scarcely more than a whisper. “The chain is for the ring to hang upon, to be worn always around your neck—until you are able to wear it upon your finger.”

I raised my eyes to his, and noted that they were now only sli
ghtly softened. They still were lit like embers. He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. When he did speak, it was with an air of gravity. “Keep it close, lad. You will find that it will help you focus. To magnify your abilities. You may also discover that it will serve as a shield to you when you have nothing left to give.”

I cocked my eyebrow up at him in question. To my surprise, I watched as Bram silently lifted his hand from under the table, and placed it upon the table’s surface.

On his own finger was a similar, but uniquely different, sapphire ring.

He remained motionless as he regarded me scrupulously. Finally, in that moment of deafening silence that grew between us, he offered only the slightest of nods, before bringing his examination of me to an end.
              As if it our private exchange had never taken place, he removed his hand from the table and once again hid it beneath.

And then
, whatever the spell was, it was broken.

“Oh,
Daine!” my mother exclaimed as she finally noticed my gift.

Her hand
rose to cover her mouth in her surprise. Her amazement had drawn the attention of my father away from the pages of his books and to me. He looked at the gift with wide, dark eyes, and then looked at Bram with astonishment. His eyes only briefly darted to my own before they locked again onto my ring sitting on the table.

M
y mother carefully reached along the table and took the ring in her long fingers. I winced as she touched it, expecting her to experience the same sensation I had. But nothing happened. She turned it over in her hands, admiring the stone and the Celtic pattern aloud.

My father then stood and reached across the table to my mother, who reached her hand toward him and gently placed it in his waiting hand. He looked at it while he sat, his face warring with emotions. No one said anything as we watched him, waiting for him to speak.

“Bram, this is quite the birthday gift for a five-year old boy,” my father said humbly while staring deeply into the ring’s large sapphire.

Bram simply shrugged and gave a slight smile when my father momentarily glanced up at him from under his concentrating brow.

Father cleared his throat. His voice was graveled. “I’m sorry Bram, but I cannot allow Daine to accept this. This is too valuable of a gift for a common working man, let alone the son of one. This is the gift of kings,” he held the ring out to where Bram sat at his right, “and I just cannot permit anything of its worth to be given.”

“Robert,” Bram said tenderly as he took the ring from my father with his own worn hand, “as you well know, all of my family is in
Ireland. It is rare that I see them, and when I do, it is only upon the occasion that I venture across the continent and the sea to go to them.

“They do not reach out to me out of love and familial ties, but instead, only when they’ve found cause to want something that only I may provide. But you,” he looked around the table, meeting our eyes as he indicated all of us, “you have taken me into your hearts and into your home freely. You have never expected anything of worth from me, nor have you ever asked for more than any loved one or frien
d would ask of their own.

“You have done this despite the fact that you have undoubtedly known that I am a man of very considerable means. These past five years have made us a family,” he continued, now focusing entirely on me, “and I have come to care for, love you, and claim you as my own.” His eyes looked up from mine, and with a smile he met the emotionally to
uched expressions of my parents.

His eyes found mine. W
ith a warm smile of encouragement, he raised the ring up so that we all could see. “Daine, I want you to have this.” He reached across the table from where he had been sitting across from me, and gently replaced the ring on the paper and iron chain. He sat back in his chair, the picture of ease and joy. “That ring has been with me for a long, long time, waiting to belong to someone who is as good as you.”

I just sat there, unable to say or do anything but stare helplessly between Bram, my parents, and the ring.

My mother extended her hand toward me, and softly placed it on my own. Her thumb lightly rubbed a reassuring motion on the back of my hand. She looked at my father and gave him an almost imperceptible nod of her head.

Taking her lead, my father, proud, kind, and in this moment extremely humbled, began to
speak. “Son, I . . . I . . .” He ran his hands through his hair, shook his shoulders and cleared his throat, though it had little effect on the timbre of his voice. “Daine, Mr. Macardle has bestowed you with an incomparable gift. And although I believe the sentiments between us are the same, I have not changed my opinion that his gift is too valuable to be given. However, if you’d like to accept it, I will support your decision entirely.”

I felt the huge responsibility my father had given me. Did I accept this gift and become steward of something priceless? Or, did I leave it to remain in the hands of someone who had proven capable and worthy of bearing its burden?

I looked away from my father and found my mother’s face. Her beautiful, hazel eyes were loving as her hand continued to gently knead my own. She delicately bit her lip, nodding understandingly to me.

Bram gave all appearances of remaining impassive, but I had come to know him well enough to see that he too was anxiously awaiting my decision.

I returned my sight to my father. He sat aloofly in his chair, absently biting his nails. His dark eyes watched me carefully.

I looked back at Bram, took a deep breath, and dipped my head in assent.

Instantly, my mother was to be found standing behind me. “Here, let me help you with that,” she offered kindly.

When I did not decline her offer, she reached for the ring and the chain, threading the chain through the ring effortlessly before she astutely fixed them to hang from my neck. She patted my back, and leaned around me to look
at the ring as it lay against my chest. “It looks wonderful, Daine.” And with that, she kissed my temple.

My father shifted
uncomfortably in his chair. “Carine, there wouldn’t happen to be any of that delicious birthday cake left, would there?” he inquired hopefully.

My moth
er smiled at him. “Of course there is. I’ll get you some. Bram, Daine, would either of you care for more?”

I, of course, told her that I did, and Bram, though he promised he’d have had more if it were in any way possible that he could fit it in his completely full belly, politely declined.

“Well, I think I’ll be going. It is getting late, and we’ve a busy day tomorrow, Daine.” Bram stood and began to put on his coat. “Thank you, Robert, Carine,” he had returned the green felt hat to his head and tipped it to each of them as he said their names. “The food was extraordinary and the hospitality unparalleled. Happy birthday to you again, dear boy. Enjoy your cake and sleep well. I will be by just after breakfast to collect you for school in the morning.”

“Good night,
Bram. Thank you for your most thoughtful and wonderful gifts—though I doubt it needs mentioning, that we consider you to be gift enough,” my mother said, her smile catching.

My father stood and stepped toward
where Bram was waiting at the door, “Yes, Bram, thank you. I am greatly looking forward to reading my new books. And even though I think you’ve given us too much tonight,” his hand placed on the old man’s shoulder, “it honors me to know that you consider us your own. I hope you know that we think of you as the same.” He clapped Bram’s shoulder fondly.

Bram lit his lantern
and left. I watched his light out the front window, noting that his lantern did not take the path to his own home, but instead disappeared around the corner of the barn on the path that led to the river. Rather than think on that, I turned all of my attention to the piece of rich chocolate cake that sat so invitingly on the plate before me.

I must confess
I was expecting school to be some kind of magical, otherworldly, experience—and that, it was not. The next morning, Bram arrived slightly before the appointed time to collect me for my first day of school. I had no books or writing materials, so all I had to do was simply walk out of the door with him. The experience the day before by my mother’s stream had led me to assume that I would be learning something by way of explaining what had happened. But my assumption was just that.

However,
discovering Bram’s house was extraordinary. Up to this point in my life, I had never been there. His home was palatial, and a French country manor to the very description. Large trees obscured the house from view, while well appointed and manicured gardens flanked the house on all sides. It was two stories of perfectly hewn pale stone. Inside, it contained a full library, more art than I had ever encountered or imagined existed, and of course, innumerable rooms and chambers. Strangely, for all the space to attend to, Bram did not employ a single hand to maintain either himself or his property.

Immediately, we set
out upon the basis of all learning—the alphabet. Bram taught me to read and, just as he’d promised, to do so efficiently. Once I had that mastered, he also began teaching me Latin, mathematics, history, and science. Homework usually consisted of reading one of the various novels from Bram’s personal library, or memorizing large tracts of Latin, which I’d then be required to translate and recite perfectly back to him. Of course, it was also required that I accurately label the various fauna and flora on our outings.

T
here was nothing spectacular about it. That is, until I was twelve.

One spring
afternoon, without preamble, Bram stood looking down on me from where I sat at his drawing-room table. He cleared his throat roughly. His hand went to stroke his still immaculately groomed mid-chest length beard. The sapphire of his ring glinted in the sun and firelight, while his lips remained pursed as if in thought.

“
Daine, seeing as how you have mastered everything that I promised your parents I would teach you, I think it time that you learn the real purpose of your education.” His green eyes regarded me stoically as he began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt. His face remained expressionless as he dropped it to the floor. He moved his beard away, and exposed the skin of his upper body.