Weald Fae 01 - The Steward

by Christopher Shields

  He paused for a moment and turned to face me again.

  “Both were times of tremendous upheaval for my kind, and Maebowns were instrumental in quelling them. Upheaval, death, entire human cities lost, the last war raged for two centuries. While Ozara brokered the peace agreement, it was sealed by the sacrifice of the Celt, Áedán. The same was true five thousand years ago, with the Egyptian Maebown, Surero.

  “Sacrifice? So they both died to end a Fae war?” I asked.

  “They both died to prevent the annihilation of my kind and yours. I’ve told you too many macabre stories for one morning, so today I won’t tell you anything else about Surero and Áedán. We’ll leave them for some other time.” He studied my face. “Besides, not all Fae agree with me.”

  “They don’t agree with what? Gavin, stop speaking in riddles.”

  “I don’t see the appearance of a Maebown as a good thing, necessarily. I believe there is a natural balance in the universe, and a Maebown appears only when there is a great need.” He had a serious look on his face. “It has never been a good sign.”

  “And if I’m a Maebown—would it be better if I failed a trial?

  “No. If you happen to be a Maebown, there’s a reason. If you’re meant to be a Maebown, you’re a Maebown. The trials are not designed to give you an inclination. They are designed to awaken you to the inclination you already possess. I hope you’re not a Maebown.”

  I was concerned and he could sense it.

  “Maggie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I think you’re incredibly talented and will have two, perhaps three inclinations. The odds of you being a Maebown are so small they’re hardly worth mentioning. And remember, many of my kind disagree with my interpretation. I could be completely wrong,” he said before flashing a perfect smile.

  I knew I wasn’t going to get another drop of information out of him about Aether or Maebowns this morning. “I’m getting hungry, so why don’t you come up to the cottage and eat some lunch with me.”

  He stood up and we made our way back to the trailhead down the beach. On the way, I asked him whether he got tired of taking human form for years at a time.

  “Spending time in this form is no worse for me than it is for you to wear a Halloween costume for a couple of hours, but we aren’t in physical form the entire time. We change back whenever possible.”

  “Oh,” I said, smiling.

  “So, have you been practicing?”

  I knew he meant manipulating stone. “No, not yet.”

  “Well, I think you should practice a little each day. It’s the only way to develop your abilities. What they haven’t told you, Maggie, is that our ability to alter energy isn’t any stronger than yours. It simply comes more intuitively to us, and we do get longer to practice.” Yeah, no duh!

  “Manipulating energy is as easy as breathing if you understand how it works—if you learn how to attune yourself with the element.” He stopped and picked up a reddish-brown stone the size of a baseball and handed it to me.

  “Well, thanks,” I joked.

  He ignored my humor and gave me instructions on how to develop my understanding of the Earth element.

  “Devin showed you that all things in this world have unique patterns of energy. If you focus, and that begins with calming yourself, you will learn to … for lack of a better word … feel those patterns.”

  Gavin said that with practice I’d learn to develop an awareness of the patterns in everything that comprises the Earth element, and that recognizing it would become second nature.

  “When that happens, you can channel the energy through yourself—Earth energy has a calming quality for Fae and humans alike. Some use it to heal, and some simply use it to relax.” He started walking again. “I want you to focus on these things every day. Take a good look at the stone. Memorize it.”

  I looked at it and focused back on him.

  “No, Maggie, I want you to memorize the shape, the texture, and all the imperfections—every nuance.”

  I stopped walking for a moment and studied it, rolling it around in my hands with my eyes closed. An image of it formed in my mind as I ran my fingers over it. When I opened my eyes, he took it from me. In his hand it changed shape and became oblong, rough and chipped. Then it turned blue-gray.

  “Okay, I want you to change the stone back,” he said, placing it in my hands.

  “I can’t …”

  “Just close your eyes,” he interrupted, “and imagine what it looked like a few moments ago.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  In my mind I saw the stone again, round and smooth, reddish-brown.

  “Good, now calm yourself completely, like you did in the cave. Just imagine the stone changing its shape and color in your hand.”

  I relaxed and took regular deep breaths, and then I did what he said. Immediately I could feel the stone change shape, back to the way it looked a few moments earlier and exactly as I pictured it. He touched the stone with his index finger and it morphed back into a rough, oblong, gray stone.

  “Great, now it’s all up to you to change the stone back.”

  I closed my eyes and repeated the process, but the stone didn’t change this time.

  He smiled and said, “Practice! You remember feeling the energy patterns in the cave?”

  “That was an illusion.”

  He shook his head. “No, it was altered so that you could perceive it with your undeveloped senses. The pattern was there, and it is in that rock—it’s as obvious to me as the sunlight. You know what to look for, so look.”

  We walked up the path to the cottage. As we climbed the path, he asked me another question.

  “So, you want me to be your Treoraí—does that mean you’re giving the prospect of staying in Arkansas a second thought?” he asked.

  “You know I want to leave?”

  “The images and emotions that have been running through your mind are pretty clear.”

  I guess Devin wasn’t exaggerating.

  “I’m still undecided, but definitely keeping an open mind.” Wow, things have changed quickly in twenty-four hours—having Gavin as my life-long guide makes Arkansas a lot more attractive. Maybe even a game changer.

  NINE

  PEERS

  Despite telling myself that I wouldn’t be nervous about the first day of school, I was. In fact, I was a basket case. I woke up at five o’clock in the morning, quite uncharacteristic for me, still in a dream that I was late for school and showed up in bib overalls. It was a terrible dream and I couldn’t get back to sleep. Justice and I started the morning by jogging up the driveway and back, twice—just a little over four miles. Not one wolf appeared. I ate very little at breakfast, and fortunately no one seemed to notice.

  Standing in the doorway of my closet, I shook my head. Not only was it larger than my bedroom back in Florida, it was completely full of new clothes. Wool, cashmere, silk, and rows of shoes—Aunt May had insisted on buying anything I liked, stuffing the trunk of her enormous convertible more than once. It was completely overwhelming. I’ve never really been one for fashion—my parents couldn’t afford it. In the past, deciding on what to wear was always dictated by what was the least threadbare. This was new—everything about today was new. As I put on a pink cashmere sweater—the first I’d ever owned—I promised myself that I’d make the most of my new start. At least I looked great--amazing, actually. No jokes about second hand clothes today.

  On the drive to town, my nerves got the best of me again. My stomach tightened as I felt the nerves tingling in my gut. Dad noticed my long exhale. I could tell out of the corner of my eye that he was looking at me.

  “Mags, do you think you can run?” He said.

  The question puzzled me and I felt my forehead wrinkle. “Run?”

  “Yeah, baby, do you think you can run, in those fancy designer boots I mean?” he asked with a serious look.

  “Why, are you going to make me sprint to school from here?”

  “
Oh, no. I just figured that you’d probably have to run to keep away from those hillbilly boys when you get to school. You look so beautiful and all,” he said, cracking a smile.

  “No need, I have my pepper spray. I’ll just aim for the toothless grin and fire,” I replied with a smirk.

  “Well, good. Long as you have a plan.” He grinned before focusing on the road again.

  I relaxed, ready to begin my stint at Eureka Springs High with a positive attitude. Candace met me at the front doors. My new school was an institutional-looking masonry building with a rank of horizontal windows cutting through the midline, and a Scottish dude in a kilt marching on the Marquee. But inside, I realized in a few minutes that navigating this high school would be no different than any other. There were cliques here just like in Boca, and through my association with Candace and the others, I was already in one. I guess it couldn’t be avoided. Great.

  As I unloaded my bag into a dented tan-colored locker, I heard squealing and high-pitched laughter in the hall behind me. I might have been standing in a school in Arkansas, but that sound was universal—I called it a LAM siren. Short for “Look-At-Me.” The sound was often produced by teen-aged girls but could easily be confused with house cats giving birth while glass shatters in the background. My friends in Florida made that sound, and it embarrassed me when they did. It was designed to do one thing—let everyone else know that the crowd had arrived. For the right crowd, the A-clique, it was an invitation to make similar annoying screeches. For the rest of the school, it was a signal to look and admire, but not to participate. Like an ambulance through traffic, everyone else was expected to move to the side until the procession passed. It was confirmation that all high schools were the same. And yes, Rhonda had arrived.

  Watching Rhonda work the hall—twisting and turning as if she were in a photo shoot—made me uncomfortable. Hearing the things she said about anyone she identified as poor or unattractive made me angry. Embracing all the qualities of teenage girls I tried to avoid in myself, Rhonda proved to be smug, haughty, and conceited. Her whiny, high-pitched voice grated on my nerves. I let it go, however. Starting the first day in a brawl would look terrible on my school record.

  Before class started, I met Ronnie Mashburn—tall, wiry, and dark headed. I recognized him from a picture Candace had shown me. He was even better looking in person. His eyes were so brilliant they were alarming—a mint green color so light they nearly glowed. He looked me over when Candace and I walked up.

  “Wow, bet Rhonda really hates you?” he said, shaking my hand. “You’re smokin’.”

  I like you already!

  “No, she doesn’t hate…” Candace countered, “…Rhonda is just … hard.”

  “Uh huh,” he said, shooting her a dismissive look. “Je m’appelle Ronnie,” he said as he kissed my hand. “Je pense que vous êtes la plus belle fille ici.”

  “Okay, I’m not so good with the French,” I said.

  “Me either.” He smiled, shaking his head.

  I asked him if he lived close to Candace, and he laughed.

  “Oh no, girl, as much as it pains me to admit, I’m the working class kid in this group. My proletariat parents have a brick ranch just out of town with a perfect view of…”

  “Ronnie, don’t go there…” Candace said trying not to laugh.

  “…the chalk monster of the Ozarks,” he continued, rolling his eyes at her.

  “The what?” I asked.

  “Oh, don’t mind her,” he said, shooting Candace a quick, playful look. “She’s easily offended. It’s the colloquial name for the Christ of the Ozarks statue. It’s just glorious!” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Umm, colloquial name? You’re taking some liberties,” Candace said. “One person saying it over and over doesn’t make it a colloquialism.”

  He grabbed Candace in a hug, “There are several names I could have used, my Auburn-haired goddess, but you dislike all of them, despite the fact you laugh every time you hear one. Honestly, I can’t figure out why you care, since you’re into that voodoo stuff.” He laughed loudly.

  “I—am—Lutheran, Ronald! And I’m not above smacking you in front of the new girl.” She turned to me. “The statue is a religious attraction and a lot of people come here to see it.”

  Ronnie rolled his eyes and looked down at his feet. “It’s huge, like seventy feet tall, it’s disproportionate, and it’s butt-ugly.” He contorted his face.

  “Well, it isn’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but disproportionate may be unfair,” Candace said.

  I nearly lost it when he spun his head around to face her, the look of disgust on his face priceless. “Puh-leeeze, it’s totally disproportionate, as I believe Jesus actually had legs. But I could be mistaken, I guess, since I’m not a Lutheran and all.”

  I cackled despite trying not to.

  “Oh, shut up, Ronnie,” Candace said, fighting laughter herself. “I’m sure Maggie is going to love you. You don’t need to use all your material on the first date.”

  “Oh no, Candy Fountain, I’m just getting warmed up.” Then he whispered to me, “She hates that name—thinks it makes her sound like a porn star.”

  Just before the first bell, the chatty gossip suddenly switched to hushed whispers, then silence. I noticed him as soon as I followed Rachel’s glassy-eyed stare. His black hair was spiked just a bit, perfectly tussled. He had flung his backpack loosely over one massive shoulder, and for the first time in my life, I wanted to be a wool sweater—his wool sweater. He met my gaze and smiled broadly. I heard gasps around me. His smile was infectious. I smiled back.

  “I’ve never seen him smile like that before,” Candace said in a whisper.

  “Is he coming this way?” Rachel asked

  “Who is he smiling at?” Rhonda mused. In my peripheral vision I could see her shift her pose and flick her hair.

  Really?

  But Gavin’s gaze didn’t move from its target. My stomach squirmed a bit, and I felt those familiar sparkles in my knees. I took a long slow breath and calmed myself—ever so glad my calming trick worked.

  The speculation around me continued for a few seconds, but I knew exactly who he was smiling at. I took a deep breath and steadied my nerves. I watched him come close, his thighs rippling under the denim of his jeans as he walked. He never took his eyes off of me. The gaggle of chirping sophomores and juniors stepped out of his way as he walked up to where I stood.

  “I see you made it to school just fine,” he said when he got to me.

  Every eye was on me.

  * * *

  I made it through my first classes and to lunch without having to answer too many questions, and I’d given up trying to explain that Boca Raton didn’t actually mean rat mouth. Gavin and I had lunch along with Candace and the others. The first day was going smoothly until the topic of my swimming came up.

  When Ronnie asked me what I did, other than study, I told him about joining a swimming club and mentioned that I was about to begin a heavy regimen of practice. Rhonda grew visibly angry when I told them I’d be joining the Northwest Arkansas Marlins, a team based in Bentonville thirty minutes to the west of Eureka.

  “Rhonda, isn’t that the team Doug swims on?” Ronnie asked, trying, but failing to sound innocent.

  “Yes,” she said without taking her eyes off of me.

  “That’s great, Maggie, you’ll have to introduce yourself tonight,” Ronnie chided. “He’s the beautiful blond with the deep tan and the promise ring—can’t miss him.”

  * * *

  Gavin drove me home after school, and later to swim practice to meet Dad. At the pool, I got changed and briefly met with two coaches. Together they told me how they planned to do my evaluation, and then directed me to stretch. I found a spot by myself and began my routine. The smell of chlorine made me feel at home, and so did the sound of voices and splashing that echoed off the walls. Despite being so far from Florida, it was all familiar. As I stretched, I
saw Dad and Gavin talking to a guy who was a little shorter than both of them. He had light blond hair and a dark tan—it had to be Doug.

  I ignored them and went back to stretching. A few moments later the blond guy came and sat down in front of me.

  “Hi, I’m Doug Monroe.”

  He was even more beautiful than his pictures: perfect teeth, a strong brow and kind blue eyes. I wasn’t expecting those. His body was beautiful and muscular, but he wasn’t built like a swimmer. His muscles were thick and not as toned as someone who swam competitively. He was a quarterback, and football season had ended six weeks ago. He definitely had some work to do to get back into competitive form.

  “I’m Maggie O’Shea, nice to meet you.”

  “So, you’re thinking about joining the club ... nice. What do you swim, distance or sprints?”

  “Sprinter, hundred free, fifty free, and hundred breast—those are my best,” I said.

  “Naomi Miller, she’s over there by the pool,” he pointed to a tall blond girl, “is the best female sprinter on the team.”

  “She was,” I said with a slight smirk.

  “Was?” he asked, laughing.

  “Yes. Was. I am the best sprinter on the team now, female or male … that is, if I join the team,” I said, trying not to sound too smug.

  “Well, I hope you’re right. She swims the hundred free almost as fast as I do. Her best time is under fifty-four,” he said.

  “Well, don’t feel bad, you’re a quarterback, not a swimmer.” I tried to keep a straight face.

  He looked stunned, probably wondering what kind of jerk he’d just met. Then I lost it and started laughing.

  “Oh, you had me going for a minute,” he said, laughing with me.

  “I’m in a weird mood, sorry.”

  He nodded and grinned at me. “How do you like Arkansas?”

  “I like it fine, I guess. I’ve met a lot of nice people.”

  “And Eureka?” he asked with a cute grimace.

  “Well, let’s just say it’s growing on me.”

  “I think they sell an ointment for that.”