by Laura Emmons
“Nothing…” he seemed taken aback by my emotion. He repeated, “You didn’t do anything wrong, honest.”
I glimpsed a ghost of a smile.
“You did surprise me. You really kicked his butt. Where’d you learn to do all that?”
I shrugged. “Parks department…it’s a city girl thing.”
“I like it,” he said, grinning. Finally, he seemed to relax.
“Have you seen him since that night?”
His grin disappeared. “Unfortunately, I had to attend a council meeting. You can take a little comfort in knowing he looked like shit, at least. Both Fiona and Rose refused to heal his broken nose.”
“Have you heard anything about repercussions from what happened?” I hadn’t heard anything about Steve since he stabbed Evan and ran out the door of the trailer.
“Yeah, but I’m sure you’re not gonna like it.”
“I figured his dad would intervene and he’d avoid punishment.” His dad was too important to the clan. He intimidated people. If he wanted the incident brushed under the rug, it would be. “Honestly, Evan, how many other girls do you think he’s kidnapped? How many girls did he attack who didn’t know self-defense?”
“Well, about the attempted rape, something is being done. The High Council ordered an investigation. Every girl he’s ever dated is being interviewed. If anyone comes forward with a story of actual rape, he’ll be shunned. Even Steve McCoy wouldn’t be able to come back from that.”
I nodded my acceptance. “Why isn’t my story enough to make someone take action?”
“Warriors get away with poor behavior a lot because they have a genetic anomaly. They lose control. It’s a chemical imbalance thing. The same impulse which makes them brave in battle also makes them snap sometimes. We accept it as part of their make-up, so we afford them a certain amount of lee-way, but if there’s a documented account of rape, Steve will be prosecuted and punished. He claims you were the first girl with which he ever lost control.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“He says he lost control because you looked so gorgeous and sexy in your dress. He claims he felt nervous about being with you, so he went out for a bit of liquid courage and then his inner animal kicked in. Since no one suffered permanent damage, Connor is trying to get the whole thing dropped.”
“What does he mean no one suffered? You could’ve died!”
“They say I charged Steve, and he defended himself. Since that’s true, I really can’t make a case.” After a quiet moment, while I absorbed this news, he wistfully added, “I wish I could’ve seen you in that dress, though.”
“You did,” I countered, “You stood right there.”
“I only saw red at the time….” he shrugged, sheepishly.
“Well, you know what. You’re in luck. Rose used a home remedy to get the stains out of the dress. If you wait here, I’ll put it on.”
He looked hopeful, for a second, and then he changed his mind. The war of emotions played on his face. “No,” he said, “I’d better get back home…”
“Why? No, I’ve got a better idea. You go down to the den and I’ll meet you down there in a second.” I pushed him out the door. “Go…go on, it’ll be fun. You’ll see.”
He looked for a moment like he was going to object, but the wistful look appeared again. “Okay,” he said and left.
I carefully pulled my hair back in the sequined clip. I washed my face and applied the lip gloss. I put on the original outfit. I’d been lucky. Someone had found Fiona’s vintage cape in the school’s coat closet and had returned it. Once I’d donned the pumps, which had also been retrieved from the schoolyard, I went downstairs.
***
Nervous little bubbles bounced in my stomach as I walked into the den. I’d never dressed up specifically to impress a guy. Usually, if I dressed up, I did it for my own self-esteem. Something inside of me wanted Evan to think I was pretty.
I didn’t expect his calm reaction. He didn’t drop his pizza, or walk into the refrigerator, as he had last summer when we attended a wedding together. He acted as if I looked just as he’d expected. I noticed he’d put music on the stereo. He played a slow song…one of my favorite ballads. He took my hands and led me into the middle of the room. The floor plan allowed us enough space to play video games safely, not to dance, but he made it big enough for us. Wrapping me in his arms, he drew me close. I leaned against him and swayed to the music. We moved in slow circles. His hand rested on my lower back and the warmth of his skin spread like syrup through my body. The other he placed at the nape of my neck, under my hair.
I sighed and rested my head on his shoulder.
He whispered in my ear, “You are an extremely beautiful woman, Maggie Stewart…inside and out.”
I was so moved; I almost let a tear fall. “Thank you, Evan.” My heart was racing and my breathing had become shallow. Had his breathing become shallow also? I placed a hand over his heart to find out. It was beating unusually fast, incongruent with the slow song. Eventually the song stopped, but we did not. I’d wanted this for a very long time. He took a small step back and looked down into my face. I looked up into his. He intended to kiss me and I was ready.
“Oh yuk! Get a room! Honestly, this house sucks! It’s like a freaking soap opera around here. This is so gross. I have to hang out in this room, you know. Now I’m gonna have to blind myself.”
“It’s okay, Corey. We’re leaving.” I took Evan by the hand and led him back to my room, so we could talk, but he broke contact and backed away as soon as we got to the bottom of the staircase.
“I can’t stay, Mags…I have to go.”
“Oh…okay.” I said, confused. “I guess I’ll see you at school then.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you.” He bent down, kissed me on the forehead and left.
***
Feeling empty and deflated, I walked upstairs to change out of my clothes. The three ancestors had told me to not be afraid of love, but how was I supposed to be brave if Evan didn’t feel the same way? Right now things seemed more like pain than freedom.
I put my pretty dress back in the closet. I pulled on my workout clothes and practiced my forms until I was too tired to cry. Then I fell into my bed and cried anyway.
***
Finally, the month ended and my suspension was rescinded. The first thing I did was ask Evan if he could give me a ride. I’d left something in the turtle cave and I needed to go back and get it. The snow and ice had almost completely melted from the meadow. Small spring-blooming wildflowers pushed their way up through the soggy soil and added an array of pastel colors to the yellow-green grass.
We sloshed through the mud to the cave, which looked smaller, darker and dirtier than it had in my vision. I’d described the visit with the three women in as much detail as I remembered during the drive. Except for the part where I’d admitted I loved him. I kept that part to myself.
He flipped on a flashlight. “Where’s the turtle?” He had a good question. The floor of the cave was dirty and littered with debris.
I rubbed at the dirt with the toe of my boot, found a little indentation in the stone floor, and traced a line carved into the rock. “Evan, can I have your water bottle?” I poured water on the ground and pushed it around. “Do you have the towel you always hike with?”
“Are you talking about my sweat rag? Yeah, here…”
I bent down and scrubbed the dirt off the cave floor. When I’d cleared enough of the dust and grime, it revealed most of the carving. The paint was faded and chipped, but undoubtedly depicted the turtle from my vision.
“This is definitely the turtle cave,” I stated. “Thus, something should be waiting for me over here.” I walked to the back wall. Wrapped in a crumbling piece of burlap, lay the bundle of magic kindling. I retrieved it and we headed back to the car.
“Now what the heck am I supposed to do with this?” I showed him the bundle.
“It’s just a bunch of sticks,” Evan said.
“They’re supposed to be magic sticks,” I informed him.
He thought for a moment. “Well,” he mused, “you know where sticks come from…”
I completed his thought, “They come from trees.”
“And so we need a tree expert,” he concluded.
“Does that mean we need to find an arborist?”
“I was thinking we should call a dryad. You did say they were magic sticks, and I know which dryad to call.”
“Oh, then we’d better go get the bell and the rose petals.”
“Yup.”
***
We’d gathered our supplies and hiked over to the altar in the sacred temple of the crossed rings. He pulled a white column candle out of one of Fiona’s quilted tote bags and placed it in the center of the altar, lighting it with a disposable lighter. Taking a handful of rose petals from the jar, he sprinkled them in a circle around the candle. Then, he produced a silver bell, which he placed to the right of the candle. Last, he pulled out a small bottle with a dropper in the cap. It contained pure rose oil. He sprinkled a few drops of the oil all around the candle and into the melted wax so that the scent of roses filled the air. He rang the silver bell crisply three times and called out, “King of the Sidhe come to me. I need your guidance, let it be.”
He paused for a moment. Then he rang the bell again three times and repeated the incantation. The bell rang once more and he stepped back from the altar, sat down in the grass and leaned up against one of the huge rocks that formed a table leg facing the portal. I sat down cross-legged next to him. We waited for Buach to answer our call.
“Evan,” I started, “something happened the night you were stabbed. Corey said something…”
He shook his head vigorously. “Don’t talk about that here.”
I understood. Arianrhod’s spies were everywhere. They might even be here, in the sacred temple. “Okay.”
“Later,” he said. We went back to staring at the grass silently. I hated this strain between us. I wanted to be best friends again, but I didn’t know why he was pulling away. It was an uncomfortably long silence.
Eventually, Buach walked through the archway. He staggered a little, as if he was drunk. Do fairies get drunk? He definitely seemed dazed and didn’t even bother to pretend umbrage at being summoned with the spell we’d cast. “Ach, Fiona, love,” he called out.
“No Buach, it’s Maggie,” I corrected. He’d confused me with my great-aunt more than once. Why did he do that? He looked at me and his eyes came back into focus.
“Maggie, why have you summoned me here?” Great, I thought, now he takes umbrage.
Evan interceded. “Buach, can you tell us what this is?” He showed the bundle of twigs to the Sidhe. Buach took it and scrutinized the bundle.
“Ah, this be a bundle of magic kindling. I gave it to the Running Deer family many, many years ago.”
“What exactly is it?” I asked him.
“It is a collection: one twig from each of the seven sacred trees of North America, blessed by me. Look,” he pointed to each twig in turn, “Hickory, Maple, Locust, Beech, Sycamore, Ash, and Oak.”
“What does it do?” Evan queried.
“It is used to light the fire at the monthly moon celebrations. It will kindle the bonfire but will itself never burn, so it can be used forever.”
“Oh,” I commented, confused. I wasn’t sure why Margaret had thought it so important that I needed this artifact, but then Buach smiled.
“But I’m guessing, lassie, your grandmother wanted you to have it for a more contemporary reason.” He carefully peeled back the frayed and decayed burlap and untied the rope binding the sticks together. As he loosened the bundle, something fell out and landed in the grass. Evan bent down to retrieve it. Buach retied the sticks.
Evan held up the fallen object. His face was a mirror of my own. It was a combination of confusion, wonder and hope. We both stared at them: a set of car keys. He dropped them in my outstretched hand.
***
As he was driving me home he said, “You know, you’ll have to see him tonight.”
“Whom will I have to see?” I looked at him sideways.
He didn’t glance at me. He didn’t answer either. His mouth was set in a grim line.
I nodded my head and leaned back. “Steve. Why?”
“Tonight is the eve of the vernal equinox. Everyone will attend the Poet’s Play.”
“What’s the Poet’s Play?”
“At the start of the planting season, when animals give birth, and all life is renewed, the Poets of the clan reenact our history. The whole clan will expect you to go.”
“Oh,” I’d been so busy, I wasn’t sure if Rose had mentioned the event or not. I didn’t keep track of the changes of the seasons like people did here.
He took a deep breath. “Can I sit with you at the play? I don’t want you to have to face him alone.”
I don’t know why he felt the need to ask. “I’d feel better if you were close by.”
“Good.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Poet’s Play
“Welcome to this year’s Poet’s Play. Relax, sit back and enjoy the story.” Judge Paul Sinclair, local Magistrate for the Morgan County Court, kicked off the annual presentation at midnight. An ingenious, raised platform had been constructed out of wood and fitted in pieces around the stone altar in the center of the sacred meadow. The platform made the altar stand at chair height instead of at table height, so Paul used it as a seat. The wireless public address system was working great so he could be heard all over the clearing. Families sat on the ground in clusters. Most brought blankets and tarps. A few brought air mattresses and sleeping bags for the young children.
Corey and I had been warned the play would continue until sunrise, when Llew and Arianrhod would acknowledge each other as equals at the moment of the vernal equinox. I’d missed the autumnal equinox celebration, Mabon, because I’d returned to California. Torches had been placed next to each of the standing stones around the double circle. The audience was spread out across both rings so the performers, consisting of members of the Sinclair and Bruce families, had to stand sideways to address everyone. Short torches ringed the raised platform to illuminate the performance. No fairy lights hung in the air tonight, leading me to assume this function would not be attended by the Sidhe.
Our group, MacDougall’s and McMahon’s sat on the Sidhe portal side of the meadow. Fiona and Duncan sat together in low-profile folding chairs, as crawling on the ground was more difficult at their age. The rest of us had seat and backrest pads so we would be more comfortable. Duncan’s second oldest son, Ken, was the only married one of the four. He and his wife, Diana McCormack McMahon, had a toddler and an infant, who played on the blanket in front of us. Evan had been true to his word; he sat next to me, unnecessarily, as it turned out.
Steve McCoy entered the clearing, took one look at our family’s cluster and headed off to sit on the other side of the meadow. I gasped when I saw the damage done. His black and blue face had a heavily bandaged nose splint and he walked with a slight limp. Wordlessly, I turned to look at Evan with wide eyes.
“I feel no sympathy for him, neither should you,” he said crisply about the matter.
I tuned into the history lesson being told by alternating performers on the stage.
“By 1850, soft coal mining production was in full force in six states, major canals and turnpikes had been constructed to create a transportation network of shallow waterways. Steamboats clogged the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers. Railroad production had increased by an order of magnitude over the previous decade. The telegraph network had been established in every state east of the Mississippi River. A stable refining process was being discovered that would render steel production both cost-effective and of high quality.
The great Sidhe oracle, Dariene, could foresee the urbanization of the eastern seaboard, the western expansion and the impending Civil War. She knew what these
things would mean to our country. The great Roman society had already thrown off the balance between genders. They had created a class structure promoting strife, poverty and unrest. Now the United States adopted similar rules of democracy, which although helpful to the non-magical humans, threatened to unbalance the natural order with its free-market economy and endless consumption of natural resources. The oracle shared her visions and fears with the deities.
When the big factories were built and started spewing toxic, black smoke into the sky the gods worried about what would happen to both the balance of the seasons and to the balance between night and day.
The magical peoples of the Scottish Mount in North Carolina were already well integrated with the Cherokee Nation. Llew and Arianrhod visited them and asked for their help to protect the natural order. Their clan leaders agreed.
They sent a group north in search of the sacred Temple of the Crossed Rings. Dariene prophesized the temple would be located close to the capital of the non-magical government near the nexus of two great rivers. This group became the first settlers of the Cacapon clan.”
The play had reached an intermission. The performers took a much needed break and most of the people in the audience started rummaging in picnic baskets and backpacks for food. Diana nursed the baby under a blanket and the toddler had long since fallen asleep. So had Corey, he snored next to my feet. Evan had stretched out on his side and I lay at a right angle to him, with my upper torso propped up against his stomach. As I rolled over to face him, my hand instinctively came up to balance myself against his middle. I could feel the welt of the knife wound under his shirt. It was going to leave a scar which would stay with him for the rest of his life.
I traced it with my finger, thinking of my overwhelming fear when I believed he might die. My emotional scar from the wound would stay with me for the rest of my life, too. I looked to his face.
He stared back with raised eyebrows.
Immediately, I withdrew my finger.
“You’re lucky I’m not ticklish,” he said so low only I could hear him.
“Sorry.”
He rolled onto his back and looked at the stars. “It’s okay,” he replied, “I was scared that night, too.”
