Druid (Secrets of the Fae Book 2)

by Rebecca F. Kenney

  I don't feel special.

  Do I want to break up?

  No, I like her. Really, really like her.

  That's good, right?

  Maybe. I guess we'll see.

  11

  NEW LIGHT

  Aislinn

  "I want to show you something."

  Kieran's voice on the phone. Whenever he wants to show me something, it's always exciting, and life-changing, and possibly dangerous.

  "Are you doing anything this morning?" he asks.

  "I was going to study for the SATs."

  "Great, I can help you with that later. We'll do my thing first."

  I smile in spite of myself. Studying alone in the apartment on this bright blue summer day did sound pretty lame; and with Zane at work, Arden off who knows where, and the crew all busy with one thing or another, I was looking down the barrel of a long, boring eight hours.

  Plus, hanging out with him will give me a chance to talk to him again about those leprechauns and the horrible things they've been up to. Maybe I can convince him this time.

  "Okay, where are we going?"

  "It's a surprise. Pick you up in fifteen. Wear good shoes." And he hangs up.

  Good shoes? What the heck does that mean? Classy shoes? Sexy shoes? Shoes for dancing? For walking? For chilling by the pool?

  He's such a guy.

  I opt for a pair of sandals; but when he pulls up in the Audi, he frowns at them. "I said to wear good shoes."

  "These are good shoes. Could you be a little more specific?"

  "Shoes for hiking. Sturdy shoes."

  "Oh." I run inside and swap the sandals for sneakers.

  "Is that better?" I ask as I slip into the passenger seat.

  "Perfect."

  We drive for about an hour and a half, not north toward Asheville, but straight west. He won't tell me exactly where we're going, just that it's in the Nantahala National Forest.

  "I said it's a surprise." I recognize that sparkle in his eyes, that zest for something new, although he's obviously been to this place before, wherever it is. I suppose being with me makes it feel new to him.

  He's brought a karaoke CD along, so we practice with it, using our voice mimicry to sound like the original artist for each song. We haven't done this since Georgia, when we visited the fenodyree; and it's so much fun that the hour and a half passes before I know it.

  Finally he parks in a lot right near the boundary line of the park. "We'll transport part of the way, and climb the rest," he says. "Here's a photo of where I want you to go."

  It looks like the middle of nowhere, the middle of the forest. "I just hope I can get us in there without ending up stuck in a tree."

  "Focus on the clear space between the trees," he says.

  Now comes the awkward part. I have to hold onto him to transport him with me. He's standing there, looking so good in those jeans, and the deep red shirt sets off his light skin and dark hair perfectly. There's a faint shadow on his jaw and cheeks; he didn't shave this morning like he usually does. I like the look.

  And now I have to put my arms around this guy who looks like a model and smells fresh as the forest— without thinking anything that my boyfriend wouldn't like.

  I shouldn't even be here.

  Kieran sees the doubt in my face. "What is it?"

  You're too hot to touch.

  "Never mind." I look at the picture again and fold my arms around him. He tilts his head down for just a second and inhales slightly.

  "You smell good."

  "Stop it," I say.

  "What? It's just a compliment. Friends can like the way other friends smell." He's grinning, a boyish, mischievous grin that I can't help returning.

  "Let me focus." I close my eyes, and we jump.

  We land in a snarl of thorns. "Ow!" I squeal, jumping out and trying to disentangle my shirt.

  "Hold on, I got it." He works the fabric loose. "Sorry about that."

  "It's fine, just— which way?"

  He adjusts his backpack and points up the mountain ahead of us. "To the top."

  There's something amazing about climbing a legit mountain, with big rocks and slippery stony slopes and a real element of danger. Exertion calms me, clears my head. I wonder if Kieran feels the same way. We're so far from everything and everyone. No one can contact us, bother us, watch us, or ask us questions. It's just me, and him, and the next step or handhold.

  After a while, though, the trek upward becomes not so freeing. Not so exciting. The sun feels like a single blazing beam directed right at me. It's burn-the-skin-off-your-face hot, and I didn't bring sunscreen or a hat. The curse of my fair skin is that I burn dramatically— I learned that during my time at the beach with Zane's family. I don't think Zane minded, but I was painfully conscious of my reddened skin and embarrassed about how badly it peeled a few days later.

  Kieran obviously didn't think about the possibility of sunburn, so I try to keep my head down when we cross open stretches of the mountainside, and I stick to the shade whenever I can.

  I'm lagging behind. My thighs feel quivery, like jelly, and my breath catches painfully in my lungs. At least I put my hair up today, so it's not like a thick blanket on my shoulders and back. Still, a few stray curls are sticking to the sweat on my neck, and I'm pretty sure I don't smell nearly as nice as I did when we started this climb. But then, Kieran probably doesn't either. I can see sweat shining on the back of his neck as he hikes ahead of me.

  Suddenly, I sit down. I have to take a break; I just have to.

  He doesn't notice for a few minutes, and then he has to scramble back down the mountainside to me.

  "Are you all right?" he asks, crouching beside me.

  "Do you have any water?"

  He takes a thermos out of his backpack and hands it to me. "Still cold."

  "Bless you."

  I drink deeply, but I save some for him. "You know I've never done this before, right?"

  "What, climb a mountain?" His smile is like the sunshine, bright, intense. "I know."

  "So you could slow down just a little."

  "I will. Sorry."

  "It's okay. It feels weirdly good, getting this tired."

  "I know. Makes you feel alive." He stands up. "Just wait till we get to the peak, though."

  He's practically bouncing on his heels while waiting for me to get up and continue the climb. What could possibly be up there that has him this excited? I'm curious enough to keep going, even though my body is screaming in protest.

  As we near the top, Kieran seems to get a sudden burst of extra energy. "Come on!" He reaches for my hand, pulls me up. "We're almost there."

  "What is this place?" I say. "We're really far from any human stuff— no paths, hikers, campers, hunters—"

  "None of that here," he says. "Only a few people ever find this spot, and they never see what we're going to see. Or if they do, they don't live to tell about it."

  "Oh, that sounds— really great." I lean over, hands on my thighs, panting. "Not scary at all."

  His smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. "You don't have to be afraid. You're with me."

  Why do those words double my heart rate?

  Finally, sweating and breathing hard, we crest the top of the mountain.

  But it's not really a top at all. In the center of the peak, rimmed by towering ridges of rock, there's a valley, green and lush. And in the center of the valley, shaded by tall trees, there's a lake.

  Kieran is headed down already, so fast I'm scared he's going to break his neck. I shimmy after him, trying not to run pell-mell and topple head over heels into the still blue water; but I'm gaining too much momentum, too fast. It's going to end in a splash.

  His hand catches mine just in time and he spins me away from the water's edge, right into his side— a kind of dance move, fluid and graceful. His arm is around me and I feel his heart beating almost as fast as mine. But when I look up, he's staring out across the water.

  One word esca
pes his lips. "Watch."

  All is quiet. I try to control my rapid breathing, slow it down, calm it. Soon I'm not panting anymore, and I can hear just how still it is up here. Perfectly, pristinely silent. There's the faintest flutter of a breeze through the green boughs over our heads, rustling the leaves. The lake is a mirror for the sky, every cloud replicated sharply in perfect form.

  So still.

  When I look at Kieran, he isn't the Kieran I know anymore, the one trying to be my friend. He's not the laughing, lustful Far Darrig either. He's someone else altogether— young and wild, with magic in his eyes. He releases me and walks forward, silent as a panther, and he whispers to the water.

  For a second there's nothing. And then, a ripple. And another. A tingling sensation over my skin, magic in the air.

  Out of the lake bursts the head of an immense black horse. Water droplets fly like twinkling diamonds from its heavy mane as it shakes its head. The long, glossy neck comes next, then heavily muscled shoulders, bunching as the creature gallops from the lake, water streaming from its skin and lashing in sparkling waves from its swishing tail. Nostrils flaring, it lets out a deafening whinny that echoes all around the valley.

  I'm speechless. Breathless.

  Another horse, nearly as large as the first, breaks from the ripples and scrambles onto the shore, huge black hooves clattering against the shale and pebbles. The beast shakes itself, spraying me and Kieran with a cold burst of lake water. It feels amazing.

  "What are they?" I whisper.

  "Kelpies. Water horses."

  "Are they— safe?"

  "Since you're with me, you'll be fine."

  Suddenly I'm very aware of the size of the horses' hooves— large as platters; and the teeth they're champing look strong enough to chop me in half.

  "Ainmire," says Kieran, bowing to the largest horse. It means "great lord," and if any being ever deserved the title, this creature certainly does. "Dearbhail," he says to the other. "Well met, my friends."

  Slowly the horses shrink. Their bodies morph and contort— not violently, as when a Korrigan changes— but smoothly and easily. Then they're standing before us, a man and a woman, both tall, strong, and naked except for some lake weed in their hair and around their necks.

  "Midir," says the man, Ainmire, using Kieran's old name. "Too long." He speaks awkwardly, as if he hasn't used his human voice in years.

  "Your woman?" asks the female kelpie. Her eyes are sharp, wild, and totally black— no irises or whites to be seen.

  "Yes." Kieran puts his arm protectively around me with a slight squeeze, and I understand that we need to adopt this ruse for my safety. "Her name is Aislinn."

  "Good name," says the male. "Dreamer. A fit mate for the giver of nightmares."

  He says it like a compliment, though I'm not sure it is. I take a cue from Kieran and bow deeply. The kelpies acknowledge my gesture with slight nods.

  "How are the children?" Kieran asks. "I brought them something." He unslings his backpack and opens it. Inside is a large bag of sugar cubes. "For you as well."

  The kelpies' eyes light with desire. "Sugar," breathes the female.

  "We fetch the children," says Ainmire. In seconds they are back in horse form again, their glossy haunches rippling as they gallop back into the lake. They dive, disappearing smoothly under the water.

  "Kieran, they're beautiful. How did they get here? Aren't kelpies an Ireland thing?"

  "Some came over on ships with the immigrants, disguised as regular horses," he explains. "A few of the most powerful crossed the ocean themselves. They were being hunted, you see. They went in search of a New World like everyone else."

  "But in the stories— don't they eat people?"

  "Sometimes. A kelpie will pretend to befriend a human, let the human sit on its back, then take him down into the water, to the caves below, and eat him. Sometimes the males take the form of a handsome man and lure human women— pull them in for a little skinny dipping and then—"

  "Eat them."

  "Yes."

  "Do these kelpies eat humans?"

  "They live mostly on animals and fish. But yes, they've consumed the occasional hiker."

  "But they won't eat us."

  "No, because they owe me. I found them this place about a hundred years ago, and I helped them get here. And they won't hurt you, because—" he whispers in my ear, "they think you're my mate."

  Butterflies in my stomach, and not just a few, oh no. This is a whole flock of them.

  "The mate bond is sacred to kelpies," he says, still softly. "They live for about three hundred years, and they'll stay together as a pair the whole time. There's a long-lasting relationship for you."

  Suddenly a pair of ears pricks above the water, followed by the male kelpie's head. Then I see one, two, three, four other pairs of smaller triangular ears, and four slim heads with four pairs of small nostrils. The young kelpies are about the size of regular adult horses, while their parents are twice as big. They all come dancing out of the water, shaking spray and whinnying and pawing the shale.

  "The young ones don't change form yet," Kieran says. "And they're a little more unpredictable than their parents." He shakes the sugar cubes out of the bag, then pushes me back a few steps. "We don't feed it to them. That's one sure way to lose a hand. Let them come to get it."

  He's got something else in his backpack too, in an insulated compartment with a cold pack. It's a couple of raw rump roasts. He doesn't throw them to the adult kelpies, but sets the meat respectfully on a nearby rock. They tear into it with their massive teeth. I've never seen anything so fierce and wild and beautiful.

  After cleaning his hands, Kieran takes out food for us, too— a chicken salad wrap for me and a roast beef one for himself. I'm not sure when I told him about my love for chicken salad, but it's sweet that he was thinking of that when he bought this lunch for us.

  Normally, eating while watching Fae horses tear into raw meat wouldn't work for me; but I'm starved from the hike, so I dig in anyway, trying not to notice as their teeth stretch the tendons and rip out chunks of muscle.

  When the kelpies have eaten, the young ones play with each other along the edge of the lake for a few minutes, nipping flanks and kicking up their heels and tossing their manes, which never seem to dry. Kieran plays with them, dangerously, holding up big sticks for them to crack in half with their teeth. Once, one of the colts almost snaps his arm; he snatches it back just in time, laughing.

  I raise my eyebrows. He really has a thing for dangerous Fae creatures.

  After a while, the four young horses wander to the water and sink into it without a backward glance at us. Their mother follows without reverting to human form, but the male, Ainmire, turns into a man for a few minutes.

  "A word for you, Midir," he says. "The old is becoming new. The hidden will leap from their holes, and the hunted will seek for prey. A door will be opened, and can only be shut by blood."

  "What is this prophecy you speak, my friend?" Kieran asks.

  "A prophecy of Samhain," says the kelpie. Then he turns and walks straight into the lake, going deeper and deeper until he is submerged, out of sight.

  "That was cryptic," I say.

  "Unusually so, even for him," says Kieran, frowning. "I don't like it."

  "What is Samhain?"

  "It's a Celtic festival, the start of the New Year. You know it as Halloween, but it was originally a druid thing, one of their most sacred events. It is said that the veil to the Otherworld thins during Samhain, and beings from that world may cross over."

  Immediately I think of my nightmares, my visions of a world full of demons. "I remember you mentioned a door, a gate to the Otherworld from Ireland."

  "That gate was closed long ago, if it ever existed," he says. "I'm not sure what Ainmire means. I'll look into it, ask around. For now, let's not worry." He smiles. "Did you enjoy this?"

  "Did I enjoy it? It's the best day I've ever had."

  Sudden warmth leap
s into his eyes, pleasure, longing. I turn away from him and climb back up the ridge, to the peak of the mountain, where we'll start our descent back down. He catches up with me at the top, as I'm staring down the length of the mountainside.

  "Can we just transport?"

  "No," he says, grinning. "Not till we reach the bottom. Come on."

  We descend the mountain slowly, hand in hand. It doesn't take as long going down as it did going up, but it's still work, because we have to watch our footing. Once, Kieran's foot slips and he's down, sliding in a cascade of pebbles and dirt till his feet catch on a rock. I scramble down to him.

  "Are you hurt?"

  "Damn." He touches his side; there's a place where a rock has sliced through the shirt and cut him. I lift his shirt, lightly touching the edge of the wound.

  "It's not deep. You'll be okay. Give me the water bottle."

  He hands it over, and I pour a little on the wound. "Did you bring a first aid kit?"

  "No." He looks at me like I'm crazy.

  "Don't most people usually bring those when they're climbing a mountain?"

  "I'm not most people."

  I shake my head. "I'm surprised you've survived on your own this long." I rip off the dangling part of his shirt and press the cloth against the wound.

  "I've had some close calls."

  "How fast do you heal? Is it about the same as a human?"

  "A little faster. I've done some research of my own into the cells of the Tuatha dé Danann versus humans, and our cells regenerate more often. They also don't degrade over the years like human cells do. Some human cells stop dividing eventually— it's called cellular senescence— and other cells mutate. And human DNA accumulates damage over decades. Mine doesn't, and neither does yours."

  "How long will you live?"

  "No idea."

  "So you just randomly did some research into cellular regeneration, and ageing."

  "I had to get a few degrees first, but yes. It was something I really wanted to do."

  "You went to college?"

  "Of course. Several times. Don't you plan to go?"

  "I do, I just— the Korrigan never talked to me about it, so the idea is pretty new to me. I wouldn't know what to study."