Born of Oak and Silver (The Caradoc Chronicles) (9 page)

We
continued to look out over the water in companionable silence, eating a small bag of candies that Bram had withdrawn from his vest. It was a very warm day, and even standing in the shade of many trees, my pants had dried almost completely within a few moments.

“What is the ‘C
urse of the Four Fathers’, Bram?” I asked him abruptly after remembering that he had mentioned it.

Bram regarded the water carefully, and let out a steady breath before he answered me.

“A very long time ago, the Celts went to war. It has never been known exactly with whom, but only that the battle was long and bloody. During this war, among all other atrocities, four men in their ferocity had barbarically placed live infants upon the tips of their spears. The poor babes were run through until the point that they reached a specially crafted holding plate. Mothers were made to watch on in abject helplessness, while their children’s shrill screams drove them to heartbroken madness. These men then left the impaled children’s remains stacked upon their spears. They marched from battlefield to battlefield, using these gross implements to serve as both an honor to themselves and a warning to others.”

The pond had grown still and quiet. Not a single fish jumped,
nor did even a single insect dare to interrupt the horror of Bram’s recollected history. He turned, looking at me pensively as he continued. “Because of this appalling deed, every fourth generation bearing their blood has been cursed. Over the years, this has grown to be many. As such, disease, war, pestilence—all calamity—always occurs every four generations.”

“Why are you telling me this Bram?”
I asked him with my face bearing the mark of deep consideration.

Instead of answering me, Bram looked up at my face studiously, nodded his head as he agreed with his own private thoughts, and then began to walk away from me.
“Come,” he said over his shoulder, “you may not need to rest, but my old bones need to sit down for a moment before I relate the entirety.”

I doubted that Bram needed repose at all. If anything,
he wanted to be within the security of his wards, elaborate and therefore impenetrable by any and all unwanted guests. I stood briefly, shaking my head lovingly at the absurdity of my old mentor. I hurried to collect my shoes, and then jogged to meet him. 

We sat outside. D
espite his large home’s design, which allowed for the maximum amount of breezeway, it was still uncomfortably stuffy indoors. On the few and occasional days of the year that were like this, Bram preferred to sit well within the shade of the many trees at the back of his house. We sat together eating large chunks of bread with a yellow cheese, our glasses full of a light summer wine.

“Your
great-great-grandfather, have you ever heard him spoke of?” Bram questioned me while he absently twirled wine around the bottom of his glass.

“Ummm
. . . no, I can’t say that I have ever heard anything about any of my great-great-grandfathers. For that matter, I can’t say that I know much about any of my grandparents, regardless of their degree of kinship,” I told him as I tore another hunk of bread off of the quickly dwindling loaf.

“I thought as much,” Bram said with a sigh. His right hand went up to rub h
is careworn eyes before he continued, “Tell me, lad, do you at least know where your name comes from?”

“Daine? Well, I
would guess it comes from Denmark or somewhere thereabouts,” I told him easily.

“
No, it is not Daine that I was inquiring about. Though it may surprise you to learn that Daine was your maternal grandmother’s maiden name, and she was French. But, back on point, it is Caradoc that concerns me. Do you know where the name of Caradoc originates?”

I honestly couldn’t say that I did. It was always just my name,
and an old-sounding one at that. But where it had come from, or how I had received it was something that I had yet to consider. Rather than relate this to Bram, I simply shook my head in the negative.

Bram
sat up a little straighter as he drained the last of his wine from his glass into his mouth. He cleared his throat, and then informed me, “Caradoc was your father’s paternal great-grandfather. He too was Irish, and was also a Druid—an exceptional and gifted Druid. I knew him quite well. Well enough to consider him a dear friend.”

Bram’s eyes took on the look of someone reflecting on the past
, as he continued to inform me of a grandfather I had never heard of. “He was born in Drumcliff when I was thirty or forty, I’d suppose. I didn’t think much of him at the time, as I had a family of my own and other matters to attend to. Within a few years of his birth, he too began showing signs of having the Druid in him.”              Bram leaned forward with a look of warning as he took the last remaining portion of the bread. I laughed, and gestured that I would not fight him for it. At this he too chuckled. He ate a mouthful and began his story again.

“
Caradoc’s father was also a Druid. As were all the males in your line as far back as we can trace. As for why none of Caradoc’s sons, or grandsons showed to be gifted with the Druid until you, I cannot be so sure. But I do have a theory. In Drumcliff village there once lived an old widow. She was widely considered to be a seer of sorts. One night, a few years after Caradoc’s passing, a most urgent messenger arrived at my door. He requested that I attend Mrs. O’Carroll immediately. Never one to take the woman lightly, I took my cloak and slipped hurriedly into the night behind the boy.

“
I found Mrs. O’Carroll knitting before her fire as she hummed a now forgotten folk carol. A steaming teapot and two cups sat atop the table beside her. I had expected to find her on her deathbed for all the pressing nature with which the boy, her grandson I later discovered, had addressed me. But I sat down in the chair that had been placed opposite of her all the same.

“I was caught
off guard by the casual and easy manner in which she bantered—never mind that it was 3:00 a.m. and not 3:00 in the afternoon.
Blasted woman,
” Bram muttered underneath his breath with a smile he did not try to conceal plastered fondly on his face. “Despite the strange hour, Mrs. O’Carroll and I shared a congenial cup of tea before her fire. It was only after our tea and cordialities were completed that Mrs. O’Carroll informed me that she had received a forecast that she believed was of the utmost importance. One that she knew could only be shared with me.             

“
When out of Caradoc, Caradoc comes

To barren parents, the ritual of mistletoe the Druid must aid.

The walls will crumble, the earth will weep,

The
Sword of Caradoc held anew will hold that evil be staid.”

He leaned forward and regarded my face, searching for the evidence that indicated I was considering what the widow’s prophecy might have meant specifically for me.

“Bram,
are you implying that I am the Caradoc she spoke of?”

“Yes
, that is precisely what I’m saying. You are the only male born with the gift of Druidry, as well as being the only one of his descendants to bear his name,” Bram replied solemnly. “We have been meticulously tracking every child born throughout the branches of his bloodline. At no time was there ever a single Caradoc born to the line before him, nor after him—until you that is. Moreover, never was there a married couple that failed to produce living children—until your parents.”

“But,
” I countered, “my parents weren’t barren, Bram. My mother bore three children before me.”

Bram nodded his head; he knew that as well as I did.
“Daine, to be barren does not necessarily mean that you are incapable of conceiving children. It may also be interpreted to mean that a woman is unable to bear viable offspring. This, as you know, was how it was with your parents.”

“If that
were true, then what is ‘the ritual of mistletoe’ that Mrs. O’Carroll told you would need to be completed?”

He repositioned himself in his chair before
nodding his head in approval of my question.

“As you know
, Daine, a Druid draws all of his ability and power from the Earth. The ritual of mistletoe is a long-practiced fertility rite. Among other things, it requires an oak tree upon which mistletoe grows. A mistletoed oak is a valuable, but exceedingly rare, thing. In order for the ritual to be performed, a Druid must have access to one of these trees. At present, I am aware that there are only six of them in existence throughout the entire Earth. Of those six, one is located in our friend Maurelle’s personal prison.” He gestured absently toward the river and to the prison that was too close for my comfort. The smallest thought of its proximity always left me feeling uneasy.

“I was
taken quite by surprise when I discovered that one of Caradoc Dalton’s male grandchildren was living in a home right next to my own. I confess, I had been losing faith in the Widow O’Carroll’s words, but upon discovering your parents, I was again filled with an inextinguishable hope. However, rather than immediately introduce myself to them, I thought it prudent to keep my distance and instead watch for the signs that would indicate your parents were who I suspected them to be.

“
Not too long after this, I discovered that Maurelle was watching them too. I could not abide it, and immediately confined her within the area that I found her. I placed wards about its perimeter that would keep her in, as well as those that would repel, doing my best to keep humanity safe from the machinations of the Sidhe.”

Bram sighed and ch
uckled a bit. “They just didn’t seem to work so well on
you
now did they?” His eyes brightened with humor, and he chose that moment to extend his glass toward me in request that I again fill it with wine. He saluted my stupidity and dumb luck before he drank appreciatively, set down his glass, and gently brushed away the last crumbs of bread that had littered his beard and shirtfront.

“I left for
Ireland as soon as I was able to ensure that Maurelle would not be able to escape her hold. It was pertinent that I advise the High Council that I had a newly married Dalton male living adjacent to me, who just so happened to have a mistletoed oak on his property. The presence of a member of the Fae’s Royal Court demonstrating an expressed interest in the Caradoc male and female was also of especial note. These revelations had the chamber echoing with new and ancient excitement and fear.

“
I could not get back to France quickly enough. I was eager to meet these Daltons, and to establish provisions that would guarantee Maurelle was firmly fixed within the keep. When I learned that your parents had been unable to bear a child, I knew that I had finally found where Mrs. O’Carroll’s Caradoc would be coming from.

“
To gain access to the mistletoed oak, it was necessary that I enter Maurelle’s confinement.” Bram shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “Our meeting was most unpleasant.” He cleared his throat and took another hearty drink of his wine. He would not look at me. Sensing his discomfort, I thought to spare him and looked aside as well. He coughed before he continued. “Maurelle was quite upset at being limited as she was, and in order to complete the business which I had come for, it necessitated that I do things that are not the way of the Druid. I relied on darkness to render her immobile, so that I could use a gold-plated knife to cut the mistletoe I needed away from the tree.

“After I
released Maurelle from the dark charm, I used the mistletoe leaves to make a tea that both your father and mother drank, unbeknownst to the other. However, in order for the ritual to be complete, under the same mistletoed oak a blood sacrifice had to be made in the light of the full moon. I took a young, white bull to the tree, again bound Maurelle, and slit the bull’s throat while I said:

« sanguine purus nunc effundendum

ad redimendos steriles,

enutristi utero, veluti terra.

“Your parents conceived you while they were drinking the mistletoe tea. As an added bonus, they also had quite a lot of beef that winter too.

“
Never before have I related what I have just told you, nor have I ever spoken of what I am about to say.” His green eyes bored into my own, his bushy, white brows lying heavily knit over his vivid-green eyes.

I swallowed, and nodded to him in understanding. My own dark brows
lowered over my eyes, knowing that whatever it was that Bram was about to relay would weigh heavily upon me. I looked at the large sapphire ring on my right hand as I clasped my hands together and lay them in my lap. My gaze remained there as I waited patiently for Bram to continue.

When he didn’t, I lifted my eyes to find his own. He held my gaze for a long moment before he began.

“Daine, there are moments in life that define us. They reveal our potential and, if you believe in this sort of thing, our destiny too. It is then left up to you to determine whether you will do as these revelations would have you do or not. Regardless of that final decision, either way you are brought to an awareness of who you are.” His voice grew slightly bolder. “Daine,
this
is one of those moments.” Bram viewed me seriously. His left hand was poised thoughtfully under his chin. His right thumb rubbed the band of his own sapphire ring, worn on his middle finger, as his hand rested upon his knee.