The Forest of Aisling: Dream of the Shapeshifter (The Willow Series Book 1)

by D. S. Elstad

  The Willow Series

  Book One

  The Forest of Aisling

  Dream of the Shapeshifter

  By

  DS Elstad

  Copyright © 2013 by D.S. Elstad

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover Design Art – D.S. Elstad

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2013

  ISBN 978-1484834176

  Pepper Publishing

  P.O. Box 775

  Wheatridge, CO 80034

  www.the-willow-series.com

  DEDICATION

  John & Hannah, for your love, patience, and support, when I needed them the most

  Darlene, for reading it first and all the words of encouragement

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter One

  Darkness enveloped the forest, giving way to occasional patches of moonlight forming a myriad of shapes and shadows on the damp earth. Fast-moving clouds fueled by the evening breezes eclipsed the moon, adding to the ever changing patterns on the forest floor.

  Deep in the woods low howls could be heard, rich, guttural sounds, quickly changing into high-pitched yelps and yips. A symphony of wails and moans filled the crisp autumn night air.

  I took in a long deep breath and allowed the sense of urgency to overtake me. I began running, my legs stretching out, muscles expanding and contracting with each step. My pace was slow at first but soon quickened as the sound of the night echoed in my ears; oxygen filling my lungs while I raced toward the howls in the distance.

  Stray beams of moonlight danced between the tall pines and landed on the forest floor acting like some kind of road map. I zigzagged in and out of the trees, sure-footedly jumping over boulders and branches. As I neared the sounds they abruptly stopped, but I continued running until I came to a clearing in the forest. The area was bathed in moonlight so bright it resembled a searchlight, pouring down like liquid light. I lowered my head and inhaled deeply, finally catching my breath. When I looked up I found myself surrounded. The pack was slowly closing in, low growls coming from every side. Out of their midst one lone gray wolf stepped forward, letting out a warning yip to the others. They backed off. The large gray came within a few feet, its head lowered, golden eyes focused squarely on where I stood.

  Then began the ringing, that despised, predictable, unwelcome sound of the morning. Slowly I reached over and dropped my hand on top of my twin bell alarm clock. “Hush up, I hear you,” I said as I silenced the noise.

  “You have the worst timing,” I moaned, tossing the clock to my pile of clothes in the corner. “Just once I’d like to see what the pack does to me.” I rolled out of bed, grabbed my clothes, got dressed, and rushed into the kitchen for breakfast.

  Sitting there at our round polished-oak table was my Dad, Jack Whelan, reading the paper, drinking his coffee. Early morning sunshine poured in through the window directly behind him, washing him in a saintly glow.

  “Morning, Dad,” I said as I poured my cereal.

  “Hiya, kiddo,” he mumbled.

  Dad wasn’t much of a talker in the morning. Now that I think about it, Dad wasn’t much of a talker in the afternoon or evening for that matter. I sat beside him at the kitchen table and added milk and berries to my cereal.

  I could hear my mom, Tala, outside talking to our dog. She always began her day walking our mutt…er, I mean golden lab, Chance. “A dog needs to stretch his legs first thing in the morning,” she would say. She stepped in through the screen door, letting it slam shut behind her.

  “Good morning, my love,” she beamed as she looked my way, grabbing hold of her steaming cup of tea and adding her customary orange slice.

  “Morning, Mom.”

  “Sleep well?”

  I yawned and nodded. “Had my dream again.”

  “Ah, the Ihan’bla. Did you get any farther with meeting the pack?” she asked, joining Dad and me at the table.

  “No, stupid alarm clock. One thing that was different this time, though, was a big gray wolf… it stepped away from the others, kind of like it was the alpha.” I took a sip of my orange juice. “Why do I wait to have my bla bla bla just before I need to get up?”

  “Ihan’bla, Willow. Some respect, please.”

  “Ok, sorry, Ihan’bla,” I said, enunciating each syllable perfectly.

  She chuckled and said I must not be ready to see the rest of the dream yet, whatever that means. Mom is from the Lakota tribe of North Dakota. She was born on the reservation there and moved out all on her own when she was seventeen, just a year older than I am now. She likes to remind me that, being Lakota, we see things a little differently than many people. My dad included.

  When I first began having these dreams about a month ago, Mom told me about Ihan’bla, a Lakota ritual, the vision quest. For some Lakota, the vision quest can come in the form of dreams. For others, it’s a ritual that they actually have to participate in. The visions are seen as a means through which the supernatural world may contact and advise the natural world, meaning me, I guess. The supernatural part is the part I can’t quite figure out and that scares me a little bit. Anyway, it’s a cool dream. I just wish I knew what it meant.

  So I sat there, munching on my too-sweet breakfast cereal, trying to wake up and flashing back to my dream or my Ihan’bla. The sounds, smells and sights of it…so real. That was about the tenth time I’d had that dream. Only difference with this last time was the appearance of the gray alpha and its golden eyes that were about the only color to stand out in the monochrome shades of the forest.

  “Better get a move on, don’t want to be late,” Mom ordered as she grabbed her purse. “I’ll be out in the car.” She kissed my dad on top of his head and stepped out the back door.

  I grabbed my backpack and lunch, hugged Dad, and headed towards the door.

  “Need to talk with you when you get home, Wils,” said Dad.


  I glanced back at him. He hadn’t even turned from his paper and was sipping his coffee. He looked sort of sad, I thought.

  “Sure Dad, see you later,” and I rushed out the door.

  Our drive to school was typical, talking about the day, what was going to happen, who I’d have lunch with. Only thing that wasn’t typical was that this was a new school and the start of my second month there, so I didn’t really know what was going to happen. I’d made a few friends and liked the school for the most part. The teachers were cool and I got into all of the classes I wanted.

  My parents jumped at a chance to send me to the Santa Fe Fine Arts Academy. The school had a reputation as being one of the best in our area; plus, it had an arts program my mom drooled over. “I wish they would have had something like this when I was your age,” she’d say, trying to convince me it was a good thing.

  As we pulled into the school’s circle drive, Mom reached into her purse and pulled out a small rock. “I painted this for you.”

  She took hold of my hand and placed the stone in my palm. Painted on it was an eagle with outstretched wings. “Remember, the eagle is a winged symbol for the Lakota people. It is the strongest and bravest of all birds. Hold this in the palm of your hand when you’re feeling frightened or unsure. The eagle will fill you with courage.” She closed my fingers around the stone.

  “Um, ok.” I looked into her sparkling eyes. I suddenly felt like it was my first day of kindergarten instead of my fifth week of high school but didn’t say anything other than “thanks.” She looked happier than I’d seen her for a long time and I didn’t want to bring her down by reminding her how old I was. I grabbed my pack and lunch and jumped out of the driver’s seat. She scooted over, took control of the wheel, and blew me a kiss.

  As I slammed the door shut I thought how weird it was…that Mom was looking so happy and Dad just the opposite, so sad.

  Pushing through the crowd of laughing and yawning kids I finally reached my locker, grabbed the lock, and struggled to remember the combination. The noise echoing in the hall made it almost impossible to concentrate, like trying to remember the lyrics of one song while singing another.

  Right 19, left 8, right 3, I thought, as I tried the combination, then pulled down hard on the lock…no luck. Right 8, left 3, right 19. Still no luck.

  “Having problems?” asked a deep voice directly above me.

  “Yeah, can’t remember my combo,” I answered without looking up to see who I was talking to.

  “You only have a few seconds, better just head off to class,” said the voice again.

  This time I glanced up to see an Indian boy with long black hair pulled back into a braid. He practically stood on top of me with his piercing chocolate-brown eyes, holding me in place for a few seconds.

  “Yeah, right,” I stammered as I slowly stood. In my boots I was nearly nose to nose with the boy and very uncomfortable with how close he was standing.

  “You’re in my language arts class, wanna walk with me?”

  “Ok.” I tried to recall if I’d seen him before. His face looked somewhat familiar but I couldn’t be sure if I’d ever met him.

  “You’re Willow, right?” he asked as we hurried along the packed hallway.

  “Yep, Willow Whelan,” I answered, all the while thinking, who is this and why’s he so interested?

  The boy began to speak again just as the bell rang for first period. “Whoa, let’s run.” He grabbed my wrist and sprinted for the door a few feet away. I pulled my arm back and moved in front of him, entering the crowded classroom.

  I quickly found my seat and unloaded my heavy backpack. Catching my breath, I tried to focus on the teacher, who had already begun the lesson. As I relaxed and settled into the routine, I thought about the boy I’d just met and began to feel curious about him. My eyes scoped the room, looking at the many still-unfamiliar faces. Then, I spotted him. He sat there, several rows away from me in the last desk, staring. I quickly turned and felt myself blush. Oh great, a stalker.

  Class went by quickly and I was feeling much more at ease. After the teacher dismissed us, I decided to try my locker one more time. Grabbing my pack I could feel it becoming lighter as I heaved it onto my back. Spinning around, once again, I found myself nose to nose with the Indian boy.

  “Let me help,” he said, easing the straps over my shoulders. I felt completely flustered and really uncomfortable with the attention. “Where to next, Willow?” he asked, his hand resting on my shoulder.

  “My locker, I need to unload some of this,” I grumbled, trying hard to discourage his attention. I quickly left the classroom and sprinted, looking back to make sure I lost him in the crowd. This time I opened the locker with no problem. As I was unloading my pack, that already too-familiar voice came up behind me once again.

  “Ah, you remembered your combination.”

  By this time I was annoyed and quickly stood, “Are you following me or something?” I asked, my eyes squinting in irritation.

  The boy looked to the ground. “No, sorry,” he mumbled, then turned to leave. He quickly disappeared into the moving crowd.

  Ugh, why did I do that? I asked myself, shaking my head. The bell once again chimed and I rushed to my next class. For the next two periods I kept replaying the conversations with the boy in my head, each time adding to the level of guilt I felt for being so short with him. I tried to remember where or if I’d seen him before and couldn’t help but wonder why he kept following me.

  A guy as attractive as he was, most probably was beating girls off with a stick. Not that I’m not attractive, thank you very much. I could clean up pretty well when I wanted to; only thing was, most times I didn’t want to. I’m definitely a creature of comfort and for me that usually doesn’t include make-up and dresses. Mom would call me her “natural beauty,” saying that I got the best of her and Dad: his deep chestnut-colored hair and her ginger eyes. “Being a cross between Lakota and Irish has served you well,” she would say.

  Finally, lunchtime arrived and I made my way to the cafeteria. I searched the room and spotted my friends Leah and Sam, motioning for me to join them. I also saw Native boy standing in line. I debated talking to him but gave in to the guilt. Inching up behind him I said, in a soft tone, “Are you following me?”

  He turned around and cocked his head, then looked to the ground. He seemed uncomfortable so I smiled and apologized.

  “That’s ok,” he said. “Sorry if I was bugging you.”

  “Well, maybe a little.” I laughed my nervous laugh. “Bugging me that is…” then choked on my words. The guy was unapproachably good looking and here I was saying he bugged me. “Not really, you weren’t bugging me. It’s just that I’m new here this year and mornings are crazy, what with trying to remember my way around.” I grabbed hold of a loose strand of hair and placed it behind my ear, suddenly feeling very intimidated.

  “Yeah, I understand. I just transferred here three days ago,” he replied as he took hold of a food tray.

  “Oh really?” I answered in a freaky shrill voice that caught me off guard. I coughed and tried to cover up my reaction.

  “Yeah, my family moved from Taos so I could go to school here. We just got here over the weekend.” He reached down and grabbed a hamburger from the counter and placed it on his tray.

  It was then I noticed all the people that were gawking at him. I turned my head to see kids on either side, staring. I raised an eyebrow at the number of onlookers he had, both guys and girls, like, he was some kind of a rock star. Intimidation stirred inside me again and I decided it was time to go. “Well, anyway, sorry for being a biotch, just caught me at a bad time,” I muttered.

  He took hold of my hand and held it firmly for a few seconds. “No problem, thanks for the apology,” he said, smiling a wickedly handsome smile.

  “Sure,” I felt strangely transfixed by his grin. I pulled my hand away and felt a tingle rush from my fingertips up my arm. Weird. I started to walk away then spun
around, “Hey, wait, I don’t know your name.”

  He smiled and leaned in closer as if to whisper. “I’m Hawk, Hawk Redwing. Nice to meet you, Willow Whelan.” He grinned and turned back to the food line.

  As I walked over to join my friends, I felt confused about my new acquaintance. One second the guy was shy and kind of sweet, the next he was like a Casanova, the picture of confidence and intimidation. I looked back his way and watched as he took his tray and went to an empty table. I shook my head and looked down at my arm that was still tingling from his touch.

  “Willlllllooooww,” Leah sang, “Who. Was. That?” She grabbed my lunch bag and threw it to the table, then pushed me down in the chair next to hers.

  Leah was one of the first friends I made at this new school, and it was immediate. Once we started talking, we never stopped. It felt as though we had known each other forever. At five foot six, she was a couple of inches shorter than me, thin, wore glasses and had short dark-brown hair that contrasted with her pale blue eyes. She was funny and friendly and slightly crazy which came out at the most inappropriate times.

  My other friend, Samantha, transferred to SFAA when I did. We’d known each other since fifth grade. I was so happy to have her here. Sam was as tall as me, with blonde hair which she always wore in a ponytail, half of it hanging in her hazel eyes. She was athletic and strong; obsessed with running each and every day. She was funny too but in a less obvious way than Leah. She had a more serious side, like I did; we figured that it was because we were both “only children.” “We’re way more mature,” she’d whisper to me whenever Leah would be acting crazy. Sam sat on the other side of the table, still staring wide-eyed at the new addition to the school.

  “His name is Hawk,” I answered, “he’s in my language arts class. He walked me to class this morning…but it was kind of creepy; it felt like he kept following me. I sort of went off on him.”