Born of Oak and Silver (The Caradoc Chronicles) (4 page)

Myself, well, I practically overshadowed the sun radiating with my pride.

“Daine here is one amazing fisherman. He just threw his line in, zigged it a bit, and within a minute had this beast on his line. Ha, if he did not have the chance of gaining an education or of learning from a master carpenter, I’d say he’d have quite a future in fishing,” Bram boasted as he ruffled the wavy hair on my head.

Mother just shook her head in disbelief, and went to work cooking the
brute for us for lunch. To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever had a fish that tasted as wonderful as that one did. When we were through eating, stuffed so full that our bellies hurt and all of us were eying the massive quantity of fish that remained upon the platter unenthusiastically, Bram stood and informed us that he would be leaving us for the next few weeks. It was necessary he explained, to acquire some oddities before he felt comfortable in beginning my instruction. But, as he assured me, he would most definitely be back for my birthday.

With Bram gone I w
as entirely left to my own devices. I spent the next few weeks causing mischief around my father, annoying my mother, and generally acting the biggest pest that I possibly could. As such, it was a relief to my parents to know that in only a few short weeks, I would be away for most of the day doing something constructive with Bram.

The day of my fifth birthday dawned, and
to my disappointment, was not marked by anything spectacular. I spent the morning completing my chores with my mother, and then by helping my father in his shop with anything he could find to occupy me. Lunch came and went, and still there was no sign of Bram.

I
left the house in hopes of finding something that would allow the rest of the afternoon to pass with ease—hopefully relatively free from boredom. Aimlessly, I took the path that rounded the corner of my father’s shop. I hadn’t gone more than a few steps when, suddenly, an idea stopped me in my tracks. I knew exactly what I was going to do. I turned on the spot and ran as quickly as I could into my father’s shop. Inside, I found him bent over, meticulously carving a door.

“Papa! Do
you have a fishing pole?!” I startled him with my unexpected outburst. Luckily, not enough to cause the sharp wood chisel he held to mar the wood’s face. He looked at me, both relief and the slightest hint of annoyance showing on his face.

“Yes, I do. You’ll find it back
there somewhere,” He used his thumb to indicate the haphazard collection my parents stored in a back corner of the barn.

He watched me as I zestily climbed on and over trunks, barrels,
and crates, searching wildly for anything that resembled a pole. Finally I found it, wedged between two trunks and under a crate. Seeing that I was unable to pry it loose myself, my father silently stepped up and moved things out of the way so that I could lift it out of the mess myself.

In a moment of triumph, I raised the pole over my head and relished
my triumph, “Yes!”

My father snorted back his laughter. “Let me look it over
, son, just to make sure that it will work properly.”

I handed my new treasure reverently over to him. After climbing down from the mountain I had just ascended, I
followed him over to his workbench.

He had it laid on the table before him, inspecting the line and the hook. He then picked it up and tested its flex before turning back
to me with a look of fondness. “Happy birthday, Daine! Your mother’s going to be very disappointed when she finds out about this. She wanted to give it to you tonight at dinner. But, I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be able to use it on your actual birthday.” He handed it over to me tenderly and rumpled my hair.

“Thank you, Papa!” I exclaimed, throwing my arms around his legs for the tightest hug I could manage.

“You’re more than welcome, son,” he said while looking down at me, my arms still locked around him.

“Now, if you give me an hour to finish carving that door, I’ll come out with you. Maybe you could even show me how it’s done.”

I pulled back from him, dejected.
How would I ever survive having to wait a whole hour?
I thought miserably.

My father must have seen my despair because he quickly amended, “Or, you could go now and I’ll catch up to you when I’m finished . . .”

I nodded, smiling in favor of this option.

He chuckled, “Just go down by the stream in the back, okay?”

I nodded so enthusiastically that my neck hurt.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” my father asked. He leaned back against his workbench and folded his arms over his chest expectantly.

Needing no further encouragement, I was instantly out of his shop and running toward the stream. Behind me I could hear my father’s gentle, amused snigger sounding from inside the barn.

The wind rushed through my hair as I sprinted toward the stream. My bare feet seemed to barely even touch the ground.
The stream was not far from our house, but to a five year old with a new fishing pole, it was absolutely too far. However, that day the wind seemed to lift and carry me, and I ran there faster than I ever had before.

I looked over the river, making a keen inspection of all its ripples and currents. I found a spot where the water seemed to gently pool before moving on, and decided that it would be the perfect place to try out my new pole.

I kissed its wooden handle lovingly and looked carefully over the line, as I’d just seen my father do, and then down to where the simple hook hung weightlessly dangling on the line.

The hook! I almost forgot.

I didn’t have any of Bram’s fancy flies, but I could find something that would work just as well. I propped my pole up against the closest tree, and began to search for a stone that I could overturn. Finding one, I crouched down and moved it easily. I peered into the impression eagerly, hoping to find something that could be used to lure a fish.

Vaguely,
the same tickling sensation I’d last had when fishing with Bram started to grow. It diverted my attention away from the rock’s hollow. I looked up and excitedly searched the woodland for Bram.

He was not
here.

However, the air continued
to administer its glistening, genial caresses.

I was at a loss to explain it, so I shrugged it off, and went back to looking for the perfect piece of bait.
In my moment of distraction, everything that I might have used had managed to disappear.
Stupid
, I thought to myself as I moved over to another rock that was not too far away. I overturned it, and found that there was nothing there either.

“
Damn,” I murmured aloud.

Guiltily, I
checked around me to make sure my mother had not heard me. There was nothing to be seen but the trees, river, rocks, and grass. I blew out a sigh of relief and stood to look for another rock.

I spotted one, closer to the water this time. Th
is one was stuck good. I tried to twist the rock and loosen it from the mud, but found it was impossible to do while standing. I kneeled in the riverbank, my toes digging into the silt as I worried the rock back and forth, back and forth. I worked until my arms were sore, but the rock just wouldn’t budge.

Sitting back on my heels, I wiped my muddied hand across my for
ehead. Something in the air changed. Throughout my entire search the air had shimmered with an affectionate tingle, but now the tingling had become more of a smoldering sting. It didn’t burn, and it didn’t hurt, but it felt like a direct rebuff against my skin.

I looked around again
, this time with suspicion. There was still no one else but me.

But, the eyes can deceive, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of being intently watched.

My brow furrowed as it became difficult to concentrate. The sensation continued to increase in its intensity. Shakily, I stood up from where I had crouched over the rock, and staggered away as I made my way up the riverbank to where I had left my pole. I clutched it tightly against my chest and then attempted to walk away from the river.

I had moved, but I
wasn’t sure how far. A pair of leather-shoe clad feet stepped purposefully onto the sloped trail not far ahead of me. I blinked heavily; nothing seemed real in this sparkling world. When the feet remained where they were, I dragged my eyes up from the shoes until I found brilliant green eyes glaring murderously at something behind me.

The charged air cracked violently around Bram, and then all the more
, as it seemed to expand outward, enveloping me within a protective stronghold. Removed from the oppressive disturbance, I could once again see and think clearly.

This Bram was even more ferocious than the Bram I’d seen through my mental haze.
He radiated absolute and unchecked fury from every inch of his deceptively elderly body. I shrank back from him as I saw something truly ancient in his gold and green searing eyes.

“Daine,” his calm but unnaturally forceful voice resonated throughout my bon
es, “stand behind me.” He continued to glare menacingly at something beyond me.

I took a step toward him and heard the most beautiful voice that I had ever heard
sing in reply, “Daine, you have not yet caught any fish. I could help you acquire as many as you wish. Just come back to the river. I am waiting for you.”

I spun around searching through the crackling air for the voice
that both beckoned and alarmed me. My bare foot involuntarily took a step toward the stream. I stopped, waiting for the repercussions of my disobedience to manifest. Just when I was about to take another step away, a strong and familiar hand was placed very gently upon my shoulder.

“Daine, do not heed her.
Though she possesses the voice of an angel, that she is not. If you follow her, you would find out all too tragically that the
Sidhe
would use you for nothing more than its own ugly purpose. That is not what I want for you. You are more than that. Come, we’ve a birthday to celebrate.”

His eyes were no longer livid with vibrant green fire, but r
egained the kindness and concern that I had known all my life. His gentle voice shattered the longing I felt for an unknown, and instead reminded me of my home, parents, and of trust. I took his hand in my own and allowed him to lead me up the path, the steps no longer difficult to take. Neither of us spoke a word to the other, we simply walked. My hand remained in his, and he, deep in thought.

My mother interrupted our silence.
“There the two of you are! Happy birthday, my very good sir! Come, wash up, dinner is ready.”

I had forgotten.

I grinned from ear to ear and ran right past her as she swatted at my backside. She had a bucket of water and soap waiting for me on the bench that rested beside the door. I laid my pole against the house and hurriedly began to clean myself.

“Bram!” My mother greeted
him affectionately. “It is so good to see you. Robert and I didn’t know what to do with ourselves while you were away. We expected you to show up at our door every morning and evening, and were greatly disappointed when you never did. The next time you feel it necessary to leave, please, don’t let it be for quite so long.”

Bram returned my mother’s embrace and greeted her with a kiss eac
h of her cheeks. “Ah, Carine, you think too much of this old man. But I am still vain enough to be pleased to hear that I have been missed. Where is your husband? Would you like me to collect him before our supper gets cold?”

“Yes! Please! You know how absorbed Robert gets when working on a new project,” my mother allowed.

Bram nodded, his hand going up to tip the rim of the forest-green felt hat that I hadn’t noticed he was wearing. He hurried off to remind my father that there was a birthday celebration waiting entirely on him.

I finished up washing and I heard my father and Bram coming toward the house. Apparently my mother did too, and she hurried into the house
. The sound of plates being placed on the table was soon coming from the door.

My father and Bram walked up the flagstone walkway to our door. Stooping down to rough me up a bit, my father mussed my hair and then quickly worked his way down to pinch my neck. I giggled freely. Of c
ourse my laughter just encouraged further assault, and he tickled my ribs with abandon. Through my laughter, I heard him roughly wonder, as he worked my sides over, “Did you catch any fish, Daine?”

“No,” I gasped out between giggles.

He smacked my bottom lightly. “That’s all right. Maybe you’ll have better luck the next time. Quick, let’s get in the house, I’m starved,” he said with a smile.

I ran into the house with my father and Bram following just behind.

My mother had made a wonderful meal of lemon sage hen, watermelon, roasted potatoes, green beans, and even—to my surprise—a small chocolate cake. We feasted in companionable conversation and company, the warm summer day giving way to a mild summer’s night.