Fire and Fantasy: A Limited Edition Collection of Urban and Epic Fantasy

by CK Dawn

  “I saw you fall,” she said, kneeling, her eyes never leaving me.

  “I’m a man,” I muttered. “A bird… A fox…”

  “You’re a shapeshifter.”

  “A what?”

  “A man who can change his shape into any animal of his choosing…provided he’s had contact with them,” she explained. “I saw a gyrfalcon fall from the sky, tumble through the forest, and then land in this very clearing as a man. There’s only one explanation for that.”

  A shapeshifter. That was what I was. A fox, a gyrfalcon, and a man.

  “Whatever was chasing you, they’ve gone now.” She pointed to the hawthorn. “The tree protected you.”

  “The tree?” I glanced up, wincing as pain flared down my spine.

  “It’s a hawthorn,” Aileen explained. “The sacred trees of the fae and the witches. There’s ancient power in her bones.”

  She spoke of the tree as if it were alive, and I placed my palm against the exposed root beside me. I could feel something—warmth—but I wasn’t sure what it was. Honestly, I wasn’t sure of anything. Even my own name eluded me.

  “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the forest near the village of Derrydun,” she replied, pointing to the north. “In County Sligo.” I raised my eyebrows, not understanding, so she added another location. “Ireland.”

  “Ireland?” A thought flashed in my mind, and I knew wolves didn’t belong here. There were no wolves in Ireland. Were they shapeshifters, too?

  “You have the accent,” she mused. “A very thick one…and know the language.”

  “There are no wolves in Ireland,” I muttered.

  Aileen frowned. “No, they were hunted down to the last almost three hundred years ago.” Her gaze fell from mine and took in my shivering body. “You’re bleeding quite badly, you know. You must be in a great deal of pain.”

  I tightened my grip on my hair. Every time I tried to remember what came before the running, a throbbing headache overcame me.

  “So?” The woman shifted, pushing her weight back onto her heels. “Will you let me help you?”

  I thought over my options. I was naked, wounded, likely had some broken bones, and I had no memory of who or what I was. My stomach was empty, I was lost, and I had no idea who to trust. Someone was looking for me, and they weren’t nice at all. The wolves were trying to tear me apart, and the ravens would’ve shredded my flesh if they’d caught me. What could I do? I had nowhere else to go.

  “I won’t hurt you,” Aileen said, her voice gentle. It had an almost musical quality to it, and as the notes fell over my body, warmth seeped into my bones. “I will keep you safe and clean you up. Derrydun isn’t far, and it’s protected by the hawthorn in the village green.”

  “Why?” I asked, my throat feeling completely raw.

  Aileen smiled and laughed softly, the sound tinkling like sunshine through the darkness. “I would be a terrible witch if I turned away a creature of magic from my doorstep. Especially when he is in desperate need of a little help.”

  “A witch?”

  “Aye, but I’m not just any witch.” She smiled once more and rose to her feet. Holding out her hand, she beckoned. “I’m a Crescent Witch.”

  Two

  The village was in darkness when we approached.

  Aileen had graciously handed me her cardigan so I could maintain some sort of modesty on the short walk to her cottage. The pale blue fabric was tied around my waist, my bare backside shining for all eyes to see.

  Limping through the forest, I’d made the going slower than it needed to be as rocks and prickles poked into my feet, not to mention the aches and pains that racked my body.

  My left arm was tender to the touch, so I cradled it against my chest, assuming my wrist was either sprained or my forearm was broken. My back and sides stung from the cuts the ravens had inflicted in their swarming, and my right ankle felt bruised.

  As we walked, I was sure Aileen had used her magic when she’d spoken to me in the clearing, but she didn’t use it again. I wondered why.

  The further we ventured, the more understanding of the world poured into my confused mind. I knew witches cast spells and protected the earth, and I knew they had covens. Where there was one witch, there were many. I wondered where the others were. What had she said her coven was called? The Crescent Witches?

  “Where are the other witches?” I asked.

  “Not here,” she replied, placing her finger over her lips. “We’ll be home soon.” Touching her ear, I understood she believed there were other ears in the forest. Remembering the chase, I fell silent. If the ravens appeared, I wasn’t sure I would be able to thwart them again.

  We climbed over a drystone wall and traversed a field, a sleepy flock of sheep peering at us as we passed. On the hill to our right, I saw the outer shell of an ancient tower glowing in the moonlight, the building crumbling into ruin and overtaken by nature. Then we clambered over another stone fence before moving into a manicured garden. The plants here were well tended, the flowerbeds immaculate and free of weeds.

  The little cottage sat among the greenery, the little plot lush with flowers, herbs, and all sorts of shrubbery. A thatched roof sat atop two stories of whitewashed limestone walls, and one side of the house was covered in a thick layer of vines laden with red leaves—Virginia creeper. Beyond the garden, I could see more buildings and the glow of orange and white lights.

  “That’s Derrydun over yonder,” Aileen said. “Not a hundred paces behind the cottage is my shop. It faces out onto the main road. There isn’t much here, and few call this place home, but it’s as good a place as any.”

  Mystified, I followed her up the garden path and to the front stoop where she fished a set of keys out of her pocket. Unlocking the door, she pushed it inward.

  “In you go,” she said. “Last thing anyone wants to see is your bare ass. One full moon is enough in these parts.”

  Stepping into the cottage, my nose filled with the earthy scent of herbs and the spice of cooking. The kitchen must be to the right, and further inside, I caught the whiff of flowery perfume and jasmine incense. My nose was sensitive, and I was amazed at my ability to pick out each thread from the cacophony surrounding me. It must be from the fox.

  “Come in here,” Aileen said, guiding me from the hall and into the kitchen.

  She turned on the light, and the little space was illuminated. Within, there was a round table with four chairs, a refrigerator, and inbuilt cupboards. A stove and a large sink took up more space, and the benches were littered with pots, pans, and bowls of fresh fruit and vegetables. Inhaling, I was greeted with the scent of home. There were no threats here.

  Pulling out a chair from the table, Aileen beckoned me to sit. I all but fell into the seat, collapsing into a heap with my back hunched.

  She disappeared for a moment and returned with a blanket in her arms. In the light, I could see her more clearly than I had in the forest. Aileen was an older woman, perhaps old enough to be someone’s mother, but she was far from being past her prime. The strands of silver running through her hair were a clue to her age, but I didn’t want to ask.

  “May I check your wounds?” she asked.

  I nodded, and she pulled another chair close to mine and perched gingerly. The moment her fingers touched my skin, I flinched, jerking away and almost falling to the floor.

  “Shh,” she crooned like a mother who was calming her frightened child. “You’ve had quite the scrap. Does your wrist hurt? May I see?”

  Another human’s touch was unfamiliar and her kindness an alien concept after what I’d just been through, but I held out my left arm. This time, I didn’t pull back when she cradled my wrist in her palm. Then as she inspected it, I could feel warmth again. Magic.

  “It’s healing quite nicely already,” she said approvingly. “Very good, that.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s part of who you are. You have magic within, you know. It helps mend your bones
when you change and when you break them. Even the scrapes on your back will heal over soon.”

  “Magic?” I repeated.

  “Magic,” she reiterated. “You’re a very special young man. Your wounds will be righted in no time, of that I have no doubt.”

  Magic. She had it too, but we were different. Witch. Shapeshifter.

  “You should wash,” she went on, “but you look like you’re half-starved. What a conundrum. Which shall we tend to first? Your stench or your belly?” My stomach growled, and she laughed. “Well, that settles it.”

  She draped the blanket around my shoulders, paying no mind to the state of her cardigan when I offered it to her. Opening the fridge, she took out a container and emptied some of its contents into a bright green bowl. Transferring the green dish into the microwave, she pressed in some numbers, and then the bowl began to rotate.

  As I watched it spin, the hum droning in the background, I wondered at my condition. I understood the world to a certain degree, but anything more complicated was beyond me. The harder I tried to make sense of it all, the more my head ached. Who I was and where I’d come from were the only things I wanted to know, but the answers were hidden behind a wall of pain.

  The microwave beeped, and Aileen retrieved the steaming bowl, placing it on the table in front of me. Dropping in a spoon, she declared, “Traditional Irish stew. Homemade with vegetables from my very own garden. That’ll put the hair back on your chest.”

  It smelled amazing, and I fisted my hand around the spoon and began greedily shoveling stew into my mouth.

  She watched me eat with a raised eyebrow. “My, you are hungry. How many times did you change?”

  I hesitated, the spoon pausing halfway between the bowl and my mouth. Taking a breath, I slowed my pace. It seemed some of the animals I’d changed into were lingering in my human form. Either that or the effort of shape-shifting made me ravenous. I wondered if the animal senses would fade away, at least until the next time I changed. If I changed at all.

  “If I don’t change, will I forget how?” I asked suddenly.

  “I couldn’t say,” Aileen replied.

  I glanced around the kitchen. “Where are the other witches? Your coven?”

  “I’m one of the last,” she explained. “Like the wolves, we’ve been hunted to the brink of extinction.”

  “Why would anyone want to harm you?” She seemed so nice and welcoming, I couldn’t understand why.

  She laughed. “I would like to know the same thing. I’m not quite sure why my crystals and tarot cards are offensive, but it seems someone really dislikes rose quartz.”

  “Why are witches being hunted?” I asked again, my brow creasing.

  “That’s a story for another time.” She picked up the empty bowl and put it in the sink.

  “Someone was chasing me,” I said.

  “I saw.”

  “I don’t know why.”

  She didn’t reply at first. Turning, she studied me, likely trying to determine if I was being truthful or not.

  “Well, as long as you’re in Derrydun, you’ll be safe,” she finally declared.

  “Because of the hawthorn?” I asked, not entirely understanding why a tree was so important.

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t remember anything,” I said, clutching the blanket around my shoulders. “Just…running. And flying.”

  Aileen studied me, her eyes giving nothing away. “Never you mind. Things will sort themselves out. They always do when magic is involved.”

  “What do I do now?”

  “We’ll have a crack at it in the morning,” she replied. “No use trying to figure out those kinds of things right now. You should rest up before any of that. When I think about it, you’ve just started living, like a babe who’s just been born, or so says your foggy memory. You’re asking question upon question like a wide-eyed five-year-old.”

  “I can stay?”

  “Of course, you can.”

  I frowned, my full belly beginning to make me feel sleepy. The aches and pains I’d felt when I landed in the clearing were subsiding, and I wondered if Aileen was right. Maybe healing myself really was part of the magic she said I had. If that was true, then it was a welcome ability.

  “If you’re going to stay, then we have to call you something,” she mused. “Do you have any ideas?”

  I lowered my gaze, searching the kitchen for a clue. A name… She was Aileen, and I was… Staring at the newspaper on the table, I read the words printed on the front page.

  “Boone,” I said, saying one I liked aloud.

  Aileen glanced at the newspaper, then back to me. “Aye, it does suit you, and it’s normal enough. Boone you are, then.”

  “Boone,” I said again, testing the sound of my new name.

  “Now how about that shower?”

  Aileen showed me to the bathroom and let me be, giving me my first taste of being alone since waking up in the forest.

  Turning on the taps, I allowed the water to run, waiting while it heated. There’d been a waterfall near the hawthorn tree, but I hadn’t seen it. The sound filling the bathroom reminded me of it, and flashes of my wild flight filtered into my mind’s eye. The wolves and the ravens made of shadow. They were all things I remembered now. New memories.

  Who was I? I didn’t even know what I looked like. I didn’t have any idea what color my hair or eyes were or if I was ugly or handsome. It was a mystery to me if I bore some of the physical similarities of the animals I’d changed into. Perhaps I had the eyes of a gyrfalcon and the pointed ears of a fox.

  Steam filled the room, and I turned. Wiping my hand over the mirror to clear the fog, I studied my reflection with wide-eyed fascination. So that was what I looked like. It hadn’t occurred to me to wonder at my appearance before now, but now I was staring at myself, I was perplexed.

  Brown, almost black eyes peered back at me, and I had a strong brow with a sharp jaw that was coated with the shadow of thick stubble. I’d been clean-shaven once, but now the beginnings of a beard were growing. And to top it all off, a mop of disheveled black hair curled on my head, leaves and twigs sticking out of it. I was a mess, but I suppose I wasn’t ugly.

  I wiped the condensation off the mirror once more and committed my reflection to memory.

  Boone.

  Three

  When I woke, it was day.

  I’d become accustomed to the darkness, and now that light streamed in through the window, everything had changed. Again.

  Aileen’s spare bedroom was furnished with a mismatched set of colors and styles, the small space crammed full of items that didn’t seem to have a place anywhere else. The framed tapestry of a fox and hound on the wall stared down at me, a mocking reminder of what I’d been when I woke the night before.

  Easing out of bed, I sat on the edge and inspected my back, twisting my head in an attempt to see if the scratches left behind by the ravens had healed. They had, just like Aileen said they would.

  Thinking about the witch, I wondered where she was. The cottage was silent. The only sound reaching my ears was the rustling leaves outside in the garden, stirred up by the breeze. Staring down at my nakedness, I tried to think of a solution for my predicament.

  Looking around the room, I found a pile of clothes on the chair with a note on top. Come to my shop, Irish Moon, when you’re feeling up to it. - Aileen.

  Casting the paper aside, I sorted through the clothes. There were two pairs of trousers, two black T-shirts, a red tartan shirt, a thick slate gray knit sweater, a black coat, socks, underwear, and a pair of black boots that were creased around the toes and ankles. Placing the sole against my foot, they looked to be the right size. Aileen had thought of everything.

  I helped myself to another shower to wash the sleep from my body and then dressed. The trousers were a little loose, but they would do. It was better than flashing my bare ass to the entire village, and it was a sight warmer.

  Venturing into the gard
en, I shielded my eyes against the sun. It was overcast, the clouds breaking for a fraction of a minute and allowing warmth to seep into the earth below. My nose twitched, picking up the scent of soil, mint, and thyme from the pot beside the door, and beyond, the tang of lavender from the shrubs that bordered the path.

  Glancing at the sky, I searched fruitlessly for the ravens. There were no shadows here, and the longer I listened, the more I realized there was nothing malicious lingering among the rose bushes other than the thorns coating their stems. Derrydun seemed to be in its own little pocket of safety, blissfully unaware of the things that chased clueless foxes and flew after lone gyrfalcons.

  Counting a hundred paces from the cottage to the street, I lingered at the corner, watching in fascination as a shiny red vehicle flashed by on the narrow stretch of road. A car driven by someone who barely got their license by the looks of it. It disappeared around the bend, and the village returned to its sleepy disposition once more.

  Looking for Aileen’s shop, I turned and found I was standing right next to it. A wrought iron fixture was screwed into the limestone, and a pale purple sign hung from the black metal that read Irish Moon. There was a crescent moon painted behind the lettering, and I remembered Aileen had said her coven was called the Crescent Witches. Maybe it was a nod to them or a calling card to others like her.

  Opening the door, I stepped inside, a bell ringing above my head. The shop was small, but it was crammed full of books, trinkets, jewelry, and crystals. Lots of them. Geodes, slices, points, wands, caves, and stones covered every available surface and glittered in every color of the rainbow.

  A calm and happy sensation washed over me, and I felt my shoulders lighten. Glancing at Aileen, who was sitting behind the counter, I tilted my head to the side, asking a silent question.

  The witch nodded. “Aye, that’s the crystals you’re feeling. Nice, isn’t it?”