The Tree Shepherd's Daughter

by Gillian Summers

  The sound of running feet made them both look up.

  "I need more bait," a man said breathlessly, sweat dripping down his sun-reddened face, following the tributaries formed by the wrinkles around his eyes.

  "Ariel is in the tree." He pointed up toward the tops of the tall pines around the clearing.

  Keelie looked up into the wind-tossed tree tops, not sure what she was looking for. A climbing woman? Branches swayed and needled boughs fluttered wildly in the wind, but near a fork in the trunk of a large tree she saw the still outline of a large bird. Ariel, she bet. She wanted to tell her to fly free. Keelie would escape, if she could. If she had wings, she would fly home.

  Or maybe she'd fly back to the past and cherish each day with her mom. She'd tell Mom not to take the flight back from San Francisco to L.A. She'd tell her not to trust the commuter plane.

  Her chest hurt. She took a deep breath. No crying. No more. "Fly free and never look back," she whispered.

  "Keelie, keep up. I'm running out of time," Ms. Talbot said. She was standing about twenty feet away and, for the first time, looked a little cross. A thin dribble of mud stained one of her stockings.

  The bird handler looked Ms. Talbot up and down, then bit her lip, as if trying to keep in whatever she was going to say.

  "Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Zekeliel Heartwood? This is his daughter. I promised to deliver her in person, and it's getting late. I have to catch a flight back to California." Ms. Talbot's smile seemed insincere.

  The bird woman pointed to a leaning post in the crossroads, covered in haphazardly nailed street signs. "Follow Water Sprite Lane to Wood Row. He's on the left. Can't miss him." She turned to Keelie. "And you're his daughter. I'm ashamed of myself for not seeing it. You're the image of him." She grinned. "I'm Cameron. I'm a friend of your dad's."

  A friend? She just bet. But despite her certainty that the Faire was full of geeks and weirdos, for some reason she felt herself warm to Cameron. She frowned and walked away quickly, then slowed as she realized that she didn't need to follow Ms. Talbot's blue suit. She knew the way. Cameron's directions were clear.

  A few yards away the path split. The left side of the fork was marked "Wood Row." Just her luck. More wood. The right read, "To The Jousting Ring." She pulled the map out. Sure enough, a big oval was marked "Jousting." Interested, and not eager to see if Ms. Talbot succeeded in her quest, she took the right fork.

  She jumped back as a big bird flew in front of her, swooping low over the path before arching into the trees. For a second she thought it would hit her. Was it the hawk? She looked up and saw a flash of bright red. Not the hawk. There was too much wildlife around here for her taste.

  The jousting ring wasn't a ring at all. It looked like a sandy football field, with a grandstand on one side and a wooden wall across from it. People still milled around excitedly, and the stands were crammed full. Food vendors hawked steak on a stick and turkey legs.

  "Get your food poisoning on a stick," Keelie muttered, keeping a tight grip on her bag. The place was full of pickpockets and thieves, according to Mom.

  As she climbed the hilly road, she got a better look at what lay beyond and stopped, mouth open. Knights in armor galloped toward each other on giant horses, just like in the movies. For a moment, she wasn't at a twenty-firstcentury Renaissance Faire. She was there, in sixteenth-century England.

  The horses were covered in brightly colored cloth that rippled with their movements, and the knights' armor looked real, although instead of being shiny, most of it looked sort of dented and used.

  They held long wooden pole lances, and every time they passed each other one would try to knock the other down by hitting him with the pole, which made the crowd go wild. Bloodthirsty geeks-what a concept.

  Behind her the birds cried out, their keening cries competing with the long trumpets blowing fanfares, yells from the crowd, and the clang of armor and swords, a confusion of sound that echoed and swirled through her body.

  Her father was close by. This place was supposed to be her home now. How scary was that? She looked around at the cheering crowds and the costumed players. She didn't know anybody aside from Ms. Talbot. Even though she didn't like her, she was a part of her old life, and Keelie wanted to hold on to every little piece that was left.

  When she was gone, Keelie'd be left alone in this lopsided fairy tale land. Well, not alone. She'd be with her father, and she'd heard enough about him to know that life was going to be less fairy tale and more nightmare.

  She imagined what would happen if her friends ever learned that her father was no better than a gypsy, a man who made his living traveling between Renaissance Faires, going from show to show, hawking his wares to the public like some Wild West snake oil salesman. It sent shivers of embarrassment coursing through her.

  When her friends asked about her dad, she told them he was in the government, working for the National Park Service in Alaska. It was too remote for him to come home. That would definitely be preferable to the truth. Alaska seemed very REI and outdoorsy, but this-this was not dealing with reality. She watched a woman go by, carrying garlands of flowers to sell as hair ornaments. She wore a laced-up bodice and a flowing skirt. It seemed to be a kind of uniform around here. Some wore their bodices tighter than others. Trailer-park tight.

  Raindrops hit her, and Keelie touched her blunt-cut hair, smooth and shiny from her morning session with gel and a straightening iron. Now it was going to frizz and curl in every direction. She'd spent an hour on it for nothing.

  The hawk screeched in the trees behind her. She'd thought she was like the hawk, tied up, blindfolded, and told what to do, but maybe the hawk was scared. Maybe it needed the safety of its handler's arm. Who knew? No one had asked the hawk what it wanted before it was captured and tamed. No one had asked Keelie before turning her life upside down.

  Lugging the bag, she caught a whiff of a delicious green scent. Not a scary tree smell. More like the smell of a meadow in the morning, or so she imagined. Her allergies had kept them away from forests and parks. She followed the smell to a booth with a wooden sign that said "Herbs." By the doorway was a smaller sign: "Remedies for sore muscles and bad cooking." Was that a joke?

  The shelves inside held baskets, bottles, and different kinds of soaps and lotions. A whole section was labeled "Herbal Remedies." That got her attention. She loved anything to do with medicine, although her mother would have dragged her out of here. She had scowled when Keelie mentioned volunteering at the hospital and told her to focus on her studies. She had, of course, meant her future law studies.

  It made Keelie feel guilty to be in the shop, even if her mom was gone and couldn't tell her to leave it alone. Would it betray Mom's wishes if she just glimpsed the herbal tinctures and salves and sniffed a few? The open sample jars smelled wonderful.

  The lady in charge wore a flowing purple gown laced in front with a silver leather cord. A snowy apron was pinned to her chest with straight pins and tied behind her waist in a bow. Her big, flowing sleeves almost dragged on the ground and were laced to her shoulders with more silver cord.

  This was something Keelie could see herself wearingif she were going to stay here, that was.

  "Can I help you find something?"

  Keelie lifted an intriguing pot. "What's this used for?"

  "It's a form of liniment for sore knees."

  "Keelie Heartwood, where are you?" The call from outside almost made her heart stop. She'd forgotten Ms. Talbot! It was as if her mom's voice had called out, reminding her that this wasn't her world. The herb woman seemed startled, too, and seemed about to speak.

  Keelie didn't give her a chance. She stepped outside, looking up the hill toward the sound of Ms. Talbot's voice. She tripped on the lifted end of a flat gray paver and went down hard on her knees.

  Her bag flew off her shoulder and hit the side of the stone, spilling her belongings down the hill. Keelie jumped up and ran, grabbing things up before anyone could get the
m. Her hairbrush, with leaves stuck in it; her extra panties, muddied; her journal, safe-thank goodness. With each thing she scooped up, the tears she'd fought earlier came closer to the surface. No amount of blinking would send them back. She brushed her arm across her face and reached for her clear plastic toiletry bag.

  A hand reached it first, and Keelie followed it up as the person straightened. Knee-high laced boots, emerald green tights, a fancy tight black and gold jacket with a hawk embroidered on the chest, and a green and black satin cape. What an outfit. And above it all, a handsome face like a California surfer, all blonde and sun-browned.

  The boy smiled and handed her the bag. She took it from him, unable to say a word, hovering between extreme thrill and rock-bottom mortification.

  "Here's your bag, Keelie Heartwood." The woman from the herb booth had picked up her leather bag. The stuff that hadn't rolled downhill poked out of it at crazy angles.

  "Thanks." Keelie shoved her panties into it before the guy could see, then dropped in the rest of what she'd managed to gather.

  "Did you get everything?" His voice was low and sweet.

  "Yes. I mean, I don't know."

  "Oi've got her mirra."

  She turned. A massive man held her pocket mirror, the little blue plastic clamshell, pinched between two very grimy fingers. He was caked in mud, every inch of him, and behind him were three other grinning Mud Men.

  The head mud guy held out her mirror. She reached for it, and he laughed and tossed it to one of his mud buddies. Keelie knew they meant it to be funny, but all she could think of was Christmas morning last year, when she'd found the mirror in the toe of the stocking her mom had fixed for her. Mirrors and lipstick. It was a tradition.

  Tears ran down her cheeks, and she didn't wipe them away. Why didn't it rain? Why didn't it rain so that all these bozos with their stupid kiddie tricks would go inside and leave her alone? No one could see her tears if it was raining, and she felt as if she could cry all day and all night.

  "Ho there, Blurp," the prince beside her called out. "Give the lady back her mirror, or I'll thrash ye with my sword."

  Blurp, the mud guy, roared with laughter, then glanced at Keelie. Something crossed his face. Regret, maybe, although he was too coated in mud for her to tell. "Here, lad," he said, and tossed him the mirror.

  The prince wiped it clean with his beautiful satin cloak and offered it to her, bowing from the waist.

  Keelie nodded, but her nose was going to run if she said anything, and she couldn't come up with a smile.

  A girl in a pink and gold hoopskirt picked her way through the mud, a golden harp cradled in her arms. She glanced scornfully at the mud guys, then frowned at Keelie and the prince. Long golden curls twisted down her back, like a fairy princess from a storybook.

  "Lord Sean o' the Wood, the Queen awaits your pleasure," she said, eyeing Keelie up and down.

  Lord Sean? How likely was that?

  "Thank you, Lady Elia." He turned back to Keelie, looking embarrassed. "I have to go. I hope you found everything."

  "I think so, thanks." Her voice seemed kind of choked, but at least she got the words out.

  "Oh, you poor child," Lady Elia said, pouting.

  Poor child? Where did this Elia person get off calling her a child? They seemed to be the same age. Keelie felt her eyes scrunch up with distrust. The airy-fairy princess pouted like someone who wanted to be admired. Keelie knew the type. Her long wavy hair and green eyes probably got her lots of attention.

  "Did you have an accident?" the golden girl asked. "Shall we call security?" She twitched her skirt back as if Keelie might get mud on it. Keelie hated her already.

  "No need," Lord Sean o' the Wood said. "She says she's fine. I think she is, too. Right, Keelie? I may call you Keelie, may I not?"

  Had she just heard that? Keelie nodded dumbly, afraid to look at him, in case he didn't mean what she thought he did.

  "Keelie Heartwood! Come up right now. I've found your father." Ms. Talbot's strident voice rang through the crowd. "You'll have time to play with your new friends later."

  Play? Mortified, Keelie froze. The pink and gold girl folded her arms and stared at her, eyes narrowed.

  Keelie was positive that Ms. Talbot's use of the word "friend" was premature.

  Murmurs erupted around her. She thought she heard someone murmur "Heartwood."

  She didn't wait to hear what they said. Dork! she thought. She was a dork for coming here, and a dork for mooning over the prince. Lord Sean. As if.

  She whirled and ran up the hill, trying to outrun her humiliation. Slipping in the mud, she still moved fast enough to get all the way to the top without looking back. Her father was up there somewhere, and that was trouble enough.

  two

  Ms. Talbot stood at the top of the hill, a disbelieving look on her face as she watched Keelie approach. A small, smiling brown woman stood next to her, looking just like a gingerbread man's wife from a kid's picture book.

  Keelie glanced down at her capris and realized she was smeared with mud. She stood, embarrassed, in front of the attorney.

  "I'm Mrs. Butters, from the tea shop just beyond yon clearing," the little brown woman said. "When I saw you fall, I said to myself, Mrs. Butters, we've got to get that poor girl something to clean off with." She held out a damp washcloth and a tea towel.

  Keelie was reaching for the washcloth when Ms. Talbot put her hand up, her frown deeper than before.

  "You've set me back two minutes, Keelie. Be considerate." She turned to Mrs. Butters and smiled grimly. "Mrs. Butters, Keelie will come back soon. She's got to see her father first. Follow me. We're almost done."

  Almost done, she'd said, as if Keelie was a chore to finish quickly. She ignored the looks and giggles from the people walking by. She must have looked like a little kid, dirty and chastised, running behind her angry mother.

  Mrs. Butters followed them up the road, either muttering to herself or speaking to them. Ms. Talbot charged ahead, not paying any attention.

  Keelie heard a crowd cheering. The sound came through the trees, and as they arrived at the top of the path she saw the brightly colored flags of the jousting field below. The cheers came from the covered grandstand.

  Two knights in armor galloped toward each other on giant horses, each holding a long spear. It looked real. She slowed down, then hurried up the path to where the trees cleared. Here she had a better view of the battle below. One knight and his horse were dressed in black-and-white stripes, and his opponent wore green.

  Keelie slowed, sure they were going to miss each other. It seemed too dangerous to do for real. With a giant clash, the knights' spears hit the brightly decorated shields they carried. The knight in black-and-white was knocked back, almost lying down on his horse's back, before snapping back up in his oddly shaped saddle.

  They'd done it; they'd really hit each other. Amazed, Keelie noticed the crowd was on its feet, cheering and screaming, just like at a football game.

  As he turned his horse, she saw that the green knight's shield had a lion on it. He stretched out an armored hand. A squire on the ground tossed him a lance.

  "Keelie Heartwood!" Ms. Talbot's voice floated over the crowd's noise.

  Keelie tore her attention from the joust. It was the best thing she'd seen so far.

  She hurried toward a clearing with several buildings, not that she was anxious to get this over with, but every time Ms. Talbot called her name, everyone turned around and looked.

  The wooden post at the end of the path had four signs on it. The top one read "Rose Arbor, Teas," then "Galadriel's Closet" and "Village Smithy, Swords, Armor, Horses Shod," but it was the last one that caught Keelie's eye. It read simply "Heartwood." She glanced at her map. Sure enough, this was it. The end of everything.

  Her heart pounding, Keelie entered the clearing. Ahead of her, Ms. Talbot waited, arms folded, in front of a two-story wood-and-stone building with a thatched roof straight out of a fairy tale. It looked
familiar, and she immediately knew why.

  Her father had sent her a replica of it for Christmas the year she'd turned five. The play set included a two-story medieval house with little animals and furniture. He'd sent her a copy of his shop.

  Ms. Talbot stepped into the shadow of the building's open first floor, and a tall, slender man appeared briefly near the shadow's edge. Keelie couldn't see his face, but she grasped her bag more tightly, clutching it to her chest like a security blanket. It had to be him.

  Zeke Heartwood. Her father.

  Keelie quickly crossed the clearing and stepped onto the cool flagstone floor of the building. She was surrounded by wooden furniture and the fragrance of sawn lumber. She felt the presence of the furniture around her, but instead of the unwelcome feelings wood brought on, she felt she was surrounded by friends. Browsers still lingered here, and she pushed past them through the narrow walkways between displays, looking for the man she'd spotted earlier.

  A nearby table glowed like warm honey. It was beautiful. Her hands trembled and her breathing was unsteady. It was probably more to do with the wood than the proximity of her father. She was so not going to cry.

  Put an end to it. Even if she threw up or burst into blisters, she'd stop this awful shaking. She let her quivering fingers trail along the tabletop. The surface was like silk, yet her fingertips tingled from the contact, as if they'd been scraped. A vision of a tree with a dainty canopy of sawtoothed leaves came into her mind. Alder, she thought. She frowned and rubbed her fingertips to rid herself of the feeling. Her odd gift really had followed her here. She thought it might have been her imagination, but it was true. There hadn't been much wood on the plane or in the cab, and she'd always avoided living trees. Impossible here.

  Freak. An echo of the taunt had bounced around in her skull since kindergarten. She'd learned to keep her odd curse to herself. It was nothing useful, like telling the future. She could only identify wood. Some people channeled spirits, she channeled trees.

  It had only been handy once, when she'd astounded her class by correctly identifying all the hardwoods on campus without once glancing at the field guide. Her biology teacher had commented on her unique perception. Her friends had been impressed and thought she'd been studying, but Mr. Brooks had watched her closely. He'd noticed she'd come up with the name after touching each tree's bark. Too bad she'd ruined the moment by barfing. She'd barely made it to behind a bush before yakking up lunch.