The Steward

by Christopher Shields

  “For decades, people have been trying to relearn the old ways—to piece together disparate stories from the fragments that remain. I doubt we’ll ever know the truth, but that doesn’t make it any less interesting to search for, does it? I’m not an expert on the Fae, but I’ve met dozens of people who claim to know a thing or two about them firsthand—including your aunt,” she explained.

  Little did she know.

  “Much of the local folklore involves your family’s land, in fact. Beyond that, Maggie, there are hundreds of local legends based on the mystical properties of the water and the land in Eureka Springs. The Osage tribe believed this place was sacred. In fact, Eureka was founded on the belief that the springs on this mountain can heal eyesight and cure arthritis. Whether you believe the legends or not, if you dig deeply enough into any of them, there is a Fae component. Maybe you should ask May.”

  Before we left, Chloe handed me a gold necklace with a pendant. It was a polished blue stone with some slight white veining.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said.

  “Consider it a welcome gift. It’s called Sodalite. Wear it, and it will bring you peace of mind.”

  Determined to stop stalling, to finally get the Earth trial over with, I hoped more than ever that Chloe was right. Dropping the chain back inside my shirt, the stone came to rest above my heart. With an exhale, I said, “Let’s do this.”

  THREE

  EARTH

  Crouched on the bluff edge above the entrance to the cave, I looked over to see where the opening was. Why is it that when you’re looking down, the distance always seems so much greater than when you’re looking up? I exhaled and tried to work up my courage. I focused on the gray clouds drifting across the sky and the low bluffs of the opposite shore five hundred yards away. The drumming in my chest slowed and my breath came a little easier. “I can do this,” I whispered.

  I turned around and looked for a tree big enough to support my weight. There were several that probably could, but I picked the biggest one—a tall pine tree with a trunk nearly two feet across and a Blue Jay watching me from a bristly cluster of the tree’s needles. The orange-brown needles blanketing the ground underneath were damp, and silent under my boots. Slowly, I looped one end of the rope around the base of the tree and fastened the hook. After repeating the process with the second rope, I grabbed each side and pulled as hard as I could. This rope isn’t going anywhere.

  My hands shook as I unrolled the ladder over the bluff. I wrapped padding around the rope where it went over the sharp, jagged edge. Yes ma’am, I’ve seen ropes fray and break in movies—I’m prepared. Justice acted as though he knew what I was about to do, and seemed to confirm my suspicion with a bark and a whimper. Even he knew this wasn’t a good idea. The Blue Jay flew back into the woods and out of sight. Secretly, I hoped it would follow me down.

  Ignoring the bluff edge, I walked back over to the big pine and put my hand on the trunk. “Okay, please don’t let go of me,” I begged.

  The request was stupid, and I caught myself looking around to make sure nobody watched me make it. The coast seemed clear except for Justice. My heart pounded in my chest again, and a tingling feeling spread through my legs and stomach. The first part is going to be a little tricky. “No duh!” I snapped at myself.

  Pulling the straps tight on my backpack, I made sure it fit snuggly around my torso and sat down next to the ladder before rolling onto my stomach. I moaned a weak protest. Only then did I slowly begin inching my way backwards, putting just one leg over the edge. My heartbeat surged and my breaths grew rapid and shallow. With a death grip on the rope, I swung my foot until I could feel a rung. It felt solid when I put a little weight on it. “Oh my…” wheezed out of my throat. Waiting for a few seconds, I concentrated on slowing my heart rate. After filling my lungs with cold air, I regained enough composure that I could feel the beating in my chest slow down.

  This is about as relaxed as I’m going to get, I think. I tightened my grip a little and moved my other foot off of the bluff and onto the rung. Justice whined even more as he stood at the edge looking alternately at me and the water’s edge below.

  “Justice, stay! You stay!”

  He walked back a few feet and lay down, resting his head on his paws.

  “You stay ... I’ll be right back—I promise.”

  He whined at me in his half yowling, half grumbling, I don’t like this voice.

  With one hand I reached up and grabbed a crevice in the bluff, making sure I had a solid grip. Slowly, I put more of my weight on the ladder. I remained ready to spring back onto the ledge at the first sign that the rope might not hold, but it didn’t make a noise. It appeared to be more than strong enough to support my weight. So I let go of the bluff and began my descent. After twenty rungs, I hung in front of the cave.

  The bottom of the opening stuck out a little past the top, so it made a natural ledge. I eased my way onto it. “That was easy.” I figured that getting back on the rope would be pretty easy too, but my subconscious mind was not through tormenting me. I had a vision of returning to the opening to find the rope floating in the lake a hundred yards away. Working quickly, I pulled the bottom up and tucked it between some stones in the cave entrance.

  In the white knuckles of my clenched fist, the flashlight beamed to life. The entrance of the cave wasn’t very large, maybe five feet tall and twelve feet wide. The chamber cut into the bluff about six feet in depth. In the back corner, a few small boulders framed a dark opening. My breathing sped up again, my stomach twisted and, despite the cold air, sweat beaded up on my forehead. I’m going to be sick.

  For a few seconds, I stood there and scanned the rest of the outer chamber looking for the triangular Earth sign. Nothing. “That would be too easy, I guess.” Reluctantly, my eyes settled on the dark opening in the limestone wall. Like a black hole, it seemed to suck everything into its nothingness. One, two, then three deep breaths and my ribcage gradually loosened.

  “Oh yes, of course, I have to crawl through bat poop and mud.”

  Crawling would be inevitable, I supposed—Aunt May said the sign would be hidden, and hard to find. Whispering to myself, I asked, “Why am I doing this again?” After moving three feet, my inner voice taunted me with the answer. Because you’re an idiot.

  The walls felt cool and dry for the most part. The floor, however, was uneven and muddy. There were no bats, nor anything larger—a small measure of relief. The tunnel turned to the left at ninety degrees, and angled downward about five feet to a ledge. A few large rocks leaned against the ledge, so I knew I could climb back out.

  The small beam of light seemed insufficient in the dark space as I swung the flashlight around to all the walls, hoping to find the sign. No luck. Crawling down the ledge heightened my anxiety, forcing me to repeat my breathing ritual over and over. Further down, the temperature changed. Though still cool, the musty, stale air felt slightly warmer than outside. At the bottom, I scanned the room again, trying not to jerk the flashlight too quickly. On another ledge—to the right and just a few inches above my knee—there were some old cigarette butts and a couple of dirty beer cans. They looked like they had been there for a long time, and I wondered which uncle left them.

  Toward the end of the passage, a smaller crevice opened between two large slabs of rock angled forty-five degrees from one another. Inching my way toward the small opening, I exhaled loudly. It was dry and free of … things. It also looked about fifteen feet long.

  “Crap, more crawling? Really?”

  My stomach twisted, and a hot wave of acrid nausea washed up my throat, burning before receding after several deep breaths. A tiny drop of perspiration ran down my nose. I wiped it with my sleeve, and another quickly followed the moment I pulled the sleeve away. Panic waited, coiled up like a snake, just under my fragile veneer of self-control. Filling my mind with pictures of the seven dwarfs in their diamond mine, the only pleasant underground image I could think of, I crawled through the gap he
adfirst, trying to remember the song they always sang.

  The end the passage opened up into a larger space, and beyond that, an opening was partially hidden by a boulder. The opening split and went off into two directions. “Great, Aunt May, you didn’t say anything about a fork.”

  You so better not get lost in here.

  “For the love of … uh … shut up!” Fumbling around in my coat pocket, I pulled out a piece of yellow chalk and drew an arrow, marking the way I came. Considering my options, my gut told me to go left. It felt like the right way, and it was bigger—a definite plus in this place. After about thirty feet I made another chalk mark.

  Crawling around and over a large slab of limestone, I saw yet another dark hole. “Crap! ... Crap, crap, crap!” What was worse, the flashlight didn’t illuminate a thing. It was a larger room or a chasm. My eyes misted for second, burning at the edges, and a convulsion just above my waistband had me huffing like I was in a Lamaze class. Crawling the distance on my hands and knees, a quick survey revealed a large chamber. The floor started about ten feet below me. I crawled down, slowly, struggling to find solid places to step and grab. Finally reaching the bottom, I stood and tried to steady my quivering knees.

  In a slow, sweeping movement, I shined my light around the large chamber. A long, flat stone, as big as my bedroom, angled down from where I stood. It dropped steeply to one side of the room. The roof of the cave slanted down at an even steeper angle, and the chamber narrowed toward the bottom where a very small opening disappeared deeper into the mountain. The hole was too small to fit through. “Great!” If the sign isn’t in this room, I’m going to have to go the other direction at the fork. Dammit.

  The slanted stone floor felt solid, so I looked over the wall surfaces, hoping to find the sign—an upside-down triangle bisected by a line that ran across the top third. In the center I should find a symbol—Aunt May called it a tarasant—four perpendicular lines, each ending in a swirl, that intersected around a circular void.

  There was nothing—markings and crevices that looked promising at first turned into nothing but cracks when I got close. My hopes began to fade.

  “Please don’t tell me I went the wrong way back at the fork?” Maybe I should have gone right?

  My watch showed nine-thirty—nine hours before anyone would be home—plenty of time to search other parts of the cave if I had to. A shudder coursed through my body. I really would like to get out of here!

  Looking around the room one more time, I decided to get a little closer to the back wall because I didn’t want to come back in here. But after a few steps down the angled stone, I slipped. It happened in slow motion at first—with my free hand, I tried to catch my balance by grabbing the ceiling but it was too high. As I began to lurch forward, I swung to catch myself with the hand holding the flashlight. The erratic movement of my light in the dark space only made matters worse. Completely disoriented, I knew I was falling before my right hip crashed into something hard. The flashlight slipped out of my hand. It bounced twice and shut off, clattering down the stone into the darkness.

  The sensation of movement filled my senses. Through my clothes, I felt myself sliding and spinning in the pitch black. The backpack twisted to my right side leaving only my left arm free, so I threw it out in front of my face to keep from crashing into the wall head on. Then, as quickly as it all started, it stopped. No crash, no painful collision, I simply stopped.

  Completely disoriented and lying on my stomach, I seemed to be pointing downhill, headfirst. Well, I couldn’t see, but the blood rushing into my face made it feel downhill. My left arm was extended out above my head. I tried to move it, but I couldn’t bring it to my side. I could feel the stone to my left and I could reach a few inches toward my face, but that was it.

  My right arm, slightly underneath me, was pinned next to my body. My legs were free, though, and I could feel the stone surface under me but couldn’t get a grip on anything. My heart beat faster and faster as I realized I couldn’t move. Too afraid to panic at first, I tried to roll my body to the left and right to free my right arm. I couldn’t. I moved both of my feet, trying to reach a wall behind or above me. There was something near my right foot, but I couldn’t get a grip on it. Reality struck, and I realized where I was. I had slid headfirst into the hole in the bottom of the cave.

  Blood filled my face, pushing against my eyes and eardrums, and I was lightheaded. Oh my god, what have I done?

  I realized that I was holding my breath, but when I exhaled it felt like I slid further into the hole.

  “Oh, crap! Oh, god!”

  My heart was about to beat out of my chest—it beat so hard I could hear it. In fact, the thump-thump, thump-thump resounding in my head was the only thing I could hear.

  “Oh god, I need to breathe,” I wheezed.

  By arching my hips, I could wedge my body against the stone and relieve the pressure on my chest just a bit. I slowly exhaled and didn’t slide any further. Panicked, I tried to take a deep breath. I couldn’t. Just before my lungs could completely fill, I ran out of room. My expanding chest filled the void between the stones, making it impossible to pull any more air into my lungs. A stronger wave of panic jolted me to the point of numbness, and my desire to completely fill my lungs consumed me as I lay there blinking away my tears in the darkness.

  “This can’t be happening to me,” I whimpered, tears rolling down my cheeks.

  “Help!” I tried to scream. The cry came out muffled and weak. My inner voice taunted me again. And who is going to hear you?

  “I’m being completely pathetic.” Panic turned to anger. “If you calm down, you’ll figure this out.” I sounded high pitched and uneven. I could feel the blood filling the skin of my face, tightening and stretching it to the limit.

  Once again, I attempted to move my left arm. I did it more slowly than before, feeling everything I could. Rubbing it against the cool, dry wall, the display light from my watch came on. I was indeed stuck in the hole at the bottom of the room, but the light seemed like a small victory. The flashlight was about a foot past my fingertips. With slow and deliberate movements, I found that I could turn my head about forty-five degrees to the left and right but no more. After the light from my watch went out, pain began to register from a wound on the back of my head.

  For several minutes I experimented with different parts of my body—anything to get out—but nothing worked. There was nothing to grab, no leverage to push against, and no way to back myself out—I was wedged tightly and hung up on my backpack. Each attempt to move raised my heart rate and left me short of breath.

  A tingling sensation ran down my cheek, and the image of a spider crossed my mind. Frantically rubbing my watch on the wall, it lit up once more. There weren’t any spiders, but I noticed something else that raised my panic level. It was the time—fifteen minutes before ten, nearly nine hours until anyone would come home. My stomach convulsed, and the sound of blood pumping in my ears was torture. Who knows how long it will take before anyone notices I’m missing?

  I fought the urge to sob, and focused on the ladder. “Okay, just calm down.” Aunt May, Mom and Dad would know I was gone. Aunt May would have everyone check the caves—she sent me here—and they’d find the ladder. Once they found the ladder, it would only be a matter of time before they found me. Besides, I left a chalk trail that would lead them right to me.

  Pessimism crept in, though, and I worried that Mom and Dad wouldn’t think to search the cave even if they found that ladder. After all, nobody made a bigger deal about hating caves than me. They’d never believe I came down here by myself.

  “God, why do I complain so much?”

  Focused on staying calm, I practiced taking slower breaths. It worked, and I managed to suppress the constant urge to fill my lungs.

  “I’m going to choke Aunt May,” I whimpered. “Yes, I’m going to choke her. ‘The secret ta the first trial’s in the caves, Maggie,’” I said in my best Aunt May imitation. Yes, an
d here I am. Some secret.

  At some point, somewhere in my mind, it registered that a lot of time had gone by, so I hit my watch again—10:17 am. My right arm was beginning to go numb while pins and needles pricked my fingers and palm. How long can I lay on it before I suffer permanent damage? That train of thought was a mistake too, so I decided to think about something else. This is one big negative mark against frickin’ Arkansas.

  Ten, twenty, maybe thirty minutes later I drifted off—I refused to accept that I might have passed out. When I woke up, my mind flashed back to Aunt May in the gazebo. She’d said, “Remember, things aren’t always how they appear. With faith, Maggie, ya can move mountains.”

  I pictured the stone she’d given me, and remembered that I stuck it in my pocket. Working patiently, I could move my right hand just enough to feel it, sort of, despite the numbness. Concentrating on nothing but my fingers, I grabbed at the bottom of the stone through the material of the pocket and worked it up to the top until it came out in my palm. It was smooth to the touch, and a little warm.

  While I held the stone, I laid still and concentrated on taking slow, shallow breaths before worrying about what to do next. It seemed important to get through this one step at a time without panicking again. My mind wandered as I listened to the steady rhythm of my breath and the drum of my heartbeats. I pictured Gavin—so incredibly beautiful. I wanted to think about the moment I met him for a little while—maybe that would pass the time until someone, anyone, could find me.

  When I met Gavin Byrne…

  The day of the snowstorm, Sara—Aunt May’s life-long friend and neighbor—had taken us all to meet Gavin and his parents, Sherman and Victoria Byrne. Sara was a tiny, graceful woman who lived across the cove in a small, limestone cottage with a thatched roof and pale blue window boxes.