Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [106]
"What will you, my sons?" he called.
I bowed. "We come seeking your wisdom, Son of the Grove.”
"Wisdom!" He snorted. "Better you'd come for fish. Today's a lucky day, it seems." As if to illustrate, he began winding in his line, a fine speckled trout thrashing on the hook. "Well, come on down, then.”
Conor and I descended the embankment while the ollamh freed his trout from the hook. He placed it in a partially submerged willow creel and tied the lid shut, then rose to greet us.
"Conor, lad!" He gripped the boy's shoulders with sturdy, weathered hands and grinned at him. "Finally got up the courage to speak to your mother, did you?”
The boy blinked. "How did you know?”
"Ah, it's written on your face, lad. At your age, everything is." The ollamh turned to me. "And you wear your heritage stamped on yours. The D'Angeline prince, is it?”
"Imriel de la Courcel." I accorded him another bow. "Well met, Son of the Grove.”
Another snort. "I'm a hermit, not a court bard. Call me Aodhan.”
I smiled. "Imriel.”
"Well met, then." Aodhan shook my hand. His felt as tough as old leather. He searched my face, his deep-set hazel eyes small and bright beneath bushy white brows. "You've scarce arrived among the Dalriada, young Imriel. What trouble have you gotten into that concerns the Lady Grainne enough to send you to seek out an old hermit's advice?”
"One of the Old Ones placed a binding on him," Conor informed him.
"Indeed!" The bushy eyebrows shot up. "Well, lads. Give me a hand with these fish, and I'll tell you what I can.”
Aodhan plucked the creel from the water and began trudging alongside the steam. For all his age—I'd guess him to be at least seventy—he moved with alacrity. Beneath the hem of his plain, rough-spun brown tunic, the calves of his bare legs were knotted like oak.
We followed him to his home, if one could call it that. The ollamh lived in a cave, albeit a dry and cozy one, fragrant with the odor of dozens of herb bundles that hung drying from the walls. They were everywhere, tied with leather thongs to outcroppings and promontories.
In front of the cave, the ground had been swept clean and leveled. A slender wisp of smoke arose from the ashes of a neatly laid fìrepit.
"I expect you remember how to clean a fish." Aodhan handed Conor the dripping creel. "Mayhap you can give your fair D'Angeline friend a lesson while I stoke the fire.”
"I know how to clean a fish," I said.
"Indeed!" His eyes twinkled. "This is a day of surprises.”
There were five trout in the creel. Conor and I ventured a few yards downstream and made quick work of gutting and cleaning them. By the time we finished, Aodhan had a skillet heating over a brisk fire.
"Nice work, lads." He popped the fish into the skillet, where they began to sputter and sizzle. "So, tell me about this binding." For the second time that day, I related the story. Like the Lady Grainne, the ollamh asked what Morwen had bound me with. When I told him, he snorted. "That was careless.”
I rolled my eyes. "Yes, so I'm told.”
"Ah, but how were you to know, eh? Still, a young man like yourself, newly wed …you're meant to be getting heirs on your bride, lad, not spilling your seed on barren soil!" Aodhan studied me, then turned his attention to the fish, reaching out to flip them with his bare fingers, heedless of the heat. Bits of fish-skin stuck to the hot skillet. "Desire," he mused. "Harboring a secret one, are you?”
I didn't answer.
Aodhan nodded to himself. "That'll give the binding power, all right.”
"Can it be broken?" Conor asked.
"No." The ollamh prodded at the nearest fish with one horny thumbnail, testing its doneness. "Not without the mannekin, I fear." He glanced up at me. "You might bargain for it, or her Ladyship might. The Old Ones do love a bargain.”
"Such as…?" I asked.
"Well, there's uisghe." Aodhan grinned. "They're partial to strong spirits, they are. Or you could give them what they want and go home, which is a bargain they're more like to accept.”
I watched him pluck the fish deftly