Age of Druids by India Drummond Page B

you hunt? Craft? Write?”
     
    “I read and write eight script languages, but only a few hundred runes,” she said. “I was born in the human realm to a small colony of azuri outcasts on the Isle of Skye. We all learned to hunt and cook, to mend and build. We left when I was still a child, though, so my skills are not what they might have been.”
     
    “Flùranach is chronologically less than eleven years old,” Rory said. “An accident with the time stream caused her to grow up prematurely.”
     
    Ewain went to Flùranach and cupped her cheek. He leaned in and sniffed deeply. “I thought I smelled something about you. You retained the essence of temporal flows. Fascinating.”
     
    “Yes,” she said, keeping her gaze averted. Then, with a shudder, she closed her eyes.
     
    Ewain nodded. “So.” He turned to Rory. “What do you want?”
     
    Rory shifted. He hated these damned swing chairs. He never felt like he was on solid ground, and in the present circumstance, he felt like a turtle stuck on its back, unable to right itself. “What makes you think we want something?”
     
    Ewain chuckled, a strange sound like the rustling of dry leaves. “You’re here. I knew your people would seek me out before long.”
     
    “Aye, well, Munro thought you might know something about an artefact he found in America. The Bleak,” Rory said. The fire popped in the silence as Ewain waited for him to continue. Finally, Rory told him about the strange, ancient gate.
     
    The elder druid’s eyes grew sharp. “Where precisely did he find it?”
     
    “Colorado, I think.”
     
    “Colorado,” Ewain said as though testing the word in his mouth. He scratched his beard and let his hand trail down. Fingering a metal disk he wore on a thong around his neck, he asked, “What makes him think it wasn’t an Otherworld gate? We did have those in Danastai once.”
     
    Rory knew the old guy was fishing for something in particular. He was a canny one, this geezer. “You know as well as I do Otherworld gates aren’t solid on the human side.”
     
    “He tested it?”
     
    “Well, the stones were broken. He drew power from two faeries, one spirit and one astral. The flows unscrambled some runes, but not all of them. Do you know what this gate is?”
     
    “Oh yes,” Ewain said, his tone distant.
     
    Sheng sat forward. “Did you make it?”
     
    “If what your leader discovered is what I believe it to be, I was certainly there. Together, all the draoidh employed our talents to fashion The Way.”
     
    “The Way, my lord druid?” Flùranach asked.
     
    Ewain ignored the question and met Rory’s gaze. “Does Munro plan to try to open it?”
     
    Rory glanced at Sheng, who gave a slight shrug. “Maybe,” Rory said. “Depends. He’s not keen on strange portals these days.”
     
    Ewain barked a harsh laugh. He had direct knowledge of the experience that caused Munro to be so wary. “I’d make an exception for this one,” he said. “But he is wise to be cautious.” After a moment, he turned to Sheng. “What do you want?”
     
    “Me?” Sheng shrugged. “I’m just along for the ride. I spend every day learning everything I can. I’m new at this druid thing, and I wasn’t going to pass up a chance to meet you. Your powers are legendary.”
     
    For a second, Ewain looked pleased. For a leathery old git, he had his vanity. “May I see your artefact?” He gestured to the items Sheng wore around his neck. “The stone one with the hole in the centre.”
     
    Without hesitation, Sheng took the piece off and handed it over, his eyes alight with curiosity.
     
    “You wield air?”
     
    “Wield might be too strong a word,” Sheng said with a chuckle.
     
    Ewain returned the small stone, then took a stylus from his pocket and offered it to Sheng. “Add a rune for each of the four cardinal directions as you would a compass.”
     
    Leaning toward the fire to get better light, Sheng did as Ewain suggested. When he’d