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

by D. S. Elstad

  Bram took hold of my shoulders, “Willow, please relax. I know this is a crash course in Irish mythology and hard to understand in such a short amount of time, but after the weird encounters you’ve had…well…” Bram looked over at the Kleenex with its wrapped contents.

  “Is that related to what you’re telling me?” I asked, nodding to the claw.

  “Quite possibly. No…even more than that, quite probably.”

  I shook my head trying to rationalize everything. None of it was making any sense, but the expression on Bram’s face told me that this was all very real and that the sooner I accept it, the better.

  “Wait, you said that you and I are two of three people who have ancestors who date back to Ireland’s early days,” my fingers were dancing wildly on the keypad. “Who’s the third?”

  “The third is a woman who moved to Italy five months ago. It was about that time that we began having problems here.” Bram’s expression grew tight, a look I’d never seen on him before. “When she left without warning that opened the door for the return of the tribulation.”

  I stepped over to the table and pulled back the tissue resting on top of the claw. I touched the top of it and tried to imagine what it might have come from. I looked at Bram with raised eyebrows. “Do you have any idea what this belonged to?”

  “Not sure; we’ll have it to show my da.” Bram joined me at the table and sat down.

  I took my seat and reflected a minute. “So where are the Tuatha? You said they were forced into the otherworld…what is that, like hell?”

  Bram shook his head, “No, not at all. The otherworld is said to be under the earth, but it’s a place of great peace and joy. The Tuatha were free to live there and practice their magic without the worry of future invasions. Many of them created another dimension for themselves and eventually moved on. Some stayed to keep watch over the surface.”

  “Why don’t they fight off the…” my mind went blank.

  “The tribulation?” Bram asked. “Any remaining Tuatha stay hidden in the otherworld, only appearing during times of serious mortal upheaval or when called upon by their chosen ones. They can’t actively participate in any earthly occurrences, since they’re otherworldly beings, but they’re fully aware of what transpires here on the surface. From what my father has told me they make contact only when the chosen ones have located the sidhe that was created by the god of light.”

  “Sidhe?” I wondered aloud.

  “Sidhes are mounds of earth located all over Ireland. Many believe they’re the homes of the fey’s – fairy people. But in reality, sidhes were created by the Tuatha as entrances to the otherworld. They’re where otherworldly creatures can once again set foot on the surface.”

  “And just how are we supposed to find the sidhe or do you already know where it is?” My headache was threatening a return. We had just gone from incredible to surreal in less than five minutes.

  “I’m not sure. It wasn’t something that we even spoke about other than for my da to tell me that it existed. I don’t know if he’s got any idea where it’s located.” Bram blinked his eyes rapidly then reached into his pockets and pulled out a small bottle of eye drops. He leaned his head back and placed a couple of drops in each eye.

  “So your dad, he knows all about this stuff then?”

  “Aye, he knows, he calls himself the Keeper of the Knowledge.”

  I couldn’t help but crack a smile when he said that…Keeper of the Knowledge. It sounded so Harry Potter. Bram saw my reaction and started laughing. He stood up and put one hand on his hip and pretended to hold a staff in the other. Holding his head high, he said in a nasally American accent, “Just call me the Keeper of the Knowledge.” We both started laughing. He grabbed hold of my left hand and raised it, saying, “And you shall be called Keeper of the…” he looked around the room and grabbed a glass sitting on the table. “You shall be called Keeper of the Water Glass,” thrusting it into my hand and lifting my arm.

  I stood and raised my chin into the air. “I am Keeper of the Water Glass, you may bow now,” I answered in my best Queen Elizabeth impersonation. Too bad Bram couldn’t hear it.

  At this point we were both laughing uncontrollably. I know it wasn’t because we were really funny; actually, we were being kinda lame… it was just that our intense conversation needed an intermission. I sat on the edge of the bed holding my side, still laughing with tears running down my cheeks. Bram sat by my side shaking his head. He reached over and grabbed my hand. I finally composed myself and rested my head on his shoulder.

  It was so hard to believe that we’d met only one week ago. Sitting here with him felt so natural, just like every other time we’d been together –but even more so now, since the discovery of our connection to the past. I wondered if that was why I felt so at ease with him. I looked over as he turned his face to me. He leaned in and gently and kissed the tip of my nose, “Don’t worry, Willow, we’ll work through this together.”

  I once again rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. He put his arm around me and pulled me in closer.

  “So what happens next?” I typed.

  “I guess the next thing is to get with my father and tell him that you now know the story. He’ll want to see you and explain more. I know you have lots of questions,” he answered rubbing my shoulder. “Plus, he’s going to need to see this,” he added, taking hold of the claw.

  Suddenly a thought jumped into my head. I turned so I could face him, “Bram, I’m confused; if shapeshifting has been passed down to us, then are you saying that my dad’s a shapeshifter too?”

  “No, the ability skips a generation, usually with that offspring becoming more of a caretaker of the previous shifter and the shifter who comes next. My father doesn’t have the ability, but his father did until he became ill and died. At that time the power shifted to me, with my da preparing me and keeping record of the generations of shifters.”

  “Keeping record? Has he kept record for all three shifters?” I wondered.

  “Aye, he inherited the job about ten years ago. To be honest I’m not sure who was doing it before. My da has been filling me in gradually so as to not ‘overwhelm my senses,’ as he says. I think it’s been a fairly uncomplicated task since the ancestry for the most part has remained regional, here in Killarney – up until the third shifter, Lucy Mallory, moved to Italy. Even with your dad living in the US, Da could keep track through your grandma.”

  As Bram mentioned Grandma, the realization of my lineage came crashing down around me in visions of Shannah.

  “If shifting skips a generation then you mean that my grandmother was the shifter and that now the reason I have the ability is because she’s dead?” I stood up and took to pacing the floor once again, my brain flooded with all the implications. Questions came pouring in so fast I couldn’t finish one before the next arrived; did Dad know about Grandma? Did Grandpa know? What happened to her? Was the shifting the cause of her death? I stopped in my tracks and stared at Bram, his concerned face waiting for the barrage.

  “We need to speak to Da Willow; he can help you understand and can explain better than I can. I just started shifting myself after my grandfather died. The transition isn’t easy but we’re here to help you.”

  “Bram, are our grandparents’ deaths related to the shifting?” I punched on my phone worriedly.

  Bram read my text and furrowed his brow. He once again rose and held onto my shoulders, “My grandfather’s wasn’t but… there’s a very real possibility that Shannah’s was. And not so much related to the shifting but to the relocation of Lucy Mallory. When she left Killarney, things began to change. I told you that a tribulation had been placed on this area and its people, and that the shifters were the key to holding it in check. Do you remember when we ran into each other at the ‘Hungry Toad’ gift shop?” His brown eyes began picking up the golden hues drifting in through the window from the setting sun.

  “Yes, I remember,” I said, becoming aware of
the change of lighting in the room.

  “And do you recall the symbol you had been looking at and asked me about?”

  The Triquetra symbol flashed in my head. The same symbol I saw that day with Bram, the symbol that made its mysterious appearance in my dream a short time later and announced itself to me.

  “Of course, you called it the Triquetra.” I grabbed hold of the pendant dangling from the necklace Dad had given me. “That same day my Dad surprised me with this.” I held the chain and its dangling charm in the air for Bram to inspect.

  “Your dad gave it to you? Interesting.” Bram examined it closely then let it drop back into place around my neck. “It’s very powerful and the symbol for the shapeshifters. It refers to three earthly elements: the earth, the sky, and the sea. You’re the creature of the earth, I’m of the sky, and Lucy was of the sea. When she left, a big piece of the Triquetra was lost, creating an opening in the barrier of protection. Da believes that her leaving, along with the fact that my shifting skills were relatively new, allowed the tribulation to begin reforming itself. Shannah was older and her abilities, although they were still strong, were being stretched to the breaking point.”

  I felt a strange pressure on my heart as Bram spoke about Shannah. The photographs that Grandpa had of her life didn’t in any way share the immense burden that had been placed on her. The black-and-white images of a young smiling woman didn’t show what her everyday existence must have been like, a tie to the ancient past that flowed through her blood and changed her entire being. A protector, a mother, a wife, and who knows what other expectations were placed upon her shoulders.

  I didn’t cry for my grandmother when I learned of her death. I didn’t cry at her funeral or when I saw her images permanently pressed onto the sepia-toned photographs at my grandfather’s house, her house. Up until now it was hard for me to even imagine her as a real person. But she was. She had been my age once; she had friends, dreams, hopes for the future. She fell in love; had a family, a home, and an unspoken ability to become something quite important and necessary for the survival of all that she loved.

  When the realization of my grandmother’s humanity hit me, I began to weep. The sorrow I felt was overwhelming. Sorrow for never knowing her, sorrow for the burden she had to bear, and sorrow for the son who abandoned her. I fell to the floor and pulled my knees up to my chest, burying my face, and wept. The pain came from a place unknown to me. I had never felt a sorrow so deep and profound before.

  Bram dropped down beside me and wrapped his arms tenderly around my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Willow,” he whispered softly and held me close, gently rocking back and forth.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Life is so weird. One minute everything is fine, routine, boring even. Then the next…BAM! The world comes crashing down. I remember one time, when I was about nine, Mom and I had been out running errands when a dog suddenly ran in front of our car. Despite the fact that Mom swerved and almost got us killed in an attempt to save the stray, we still hit it. Mom quickly stopped the car and jumped out, yelling at me to stay put, which of course I didn’t. The sight of the black-and-white mutt spread out under our car left me with the sickest feeling I’d ever known.

  That feeling was back as I sat out on the balcony of our hotel taking in the beauty of the sunset. Bram had to leave to pick up his dad and the loneliness that overshadowed me was palpable, along with a very real sensation of having just aged about ten years in the last hour. I stuck the buds from my iPod in my ears and scrolled through my playlist. I quickly found a song that reflected my somber mood. It was from one of Dad’s old CDs.

  In a New York Minute

  Everything can change

  In a New York Minute

  Things can get a little strange

  In a New York Minute

  Everything can change

  I joined in singing with Don Henley and the rest of the Eagles, thinking how true it was. Everything had changed. And not just in some small, inconvenient way but in that forever way…that, I’ll never be the same way.

  I remembered feeling that when Mom and I picked up the little stray dog and rushed it to the veterinarian, hoping that the poor thing would survive. The vet shook his head, saying it didn’t look good and that probably the best thing to do would be to put the dog down. Mom asked if there was any chance the pup could pull through, to which he said, yes, albeit a small one. So Mom told him to do what he could. While she spoke to the vet I stared at the little mound of black-and-white fur and prayed for the pup’s recovery. My dreams were disturbed that night by images of the little dog. I’d been a happy-go-lucky nine-year-old, sheltered from crummy things for the most part and now realized that bad things happen. The loss of innocence. I felt that again today. I’d never again be as carefree as I was just a few weeks ago.

  The air had begun to chill so I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs. I was lost in thought when I heard the door open in the main room. Dad looked at me on the balcony and then tossed the car keys on the bed. He went straight into the bathroom without saying a word. Minutes later he came out and stared down at me, the dark circles under his eyes accentuating the blue-gray color.

  “How is everything, Dad?” I asked reaching for his hand.

  “Not too good, Wils. Conor’s in a bad way, I’m afraid.” He gripped hold of my hand and sat down in the chair. “He stopped speaking, even to Eagan. The doctor started him on anti-depressants. He says that we’re going to have to make some kind of arrangements for his care. There’s no way he can stay in his home alone anymore…not unless he makes an amazing recovery, which I don’t see happening.”

  “Who’s with him now?”

  “Eagan. He went home and packed an overnight bag, then sent me on my way. What’d your Mom say?” he asked slumping into the chair and stretching out his legs.

  “She wasn’t home when I called so I left a message; haven’t heard any –” before I could finish my sentence the telephone rang. Dad jumped up and answered Mom’s call on the first ring and took it in the other room.

  I heard most of their conversation; he wasn’t trying to hide anything from me. His voice cracked at times, then grew silent. I could picture Mom comforting him with her words, miles and miles away. He lay back on the bed and began speaking in a hushed voice. I decided to take a walk and get a soda to give him a few minutes of privacy.

  Stepping out into the hall, I became aware of an almost electrical sensation in the air. I stood motionless for a few moments, trying to figure out what was causing the disruption. My eyes searched each end of the corridor. I was unable to detect anything out of the ordinary and decided my nerves were just on edge.

  I walked down the hallway to the elevator and stepped into the small room which housed the soda machine. Reaching into my pocket, I fumbled around for some change and ended up pulling out the lining of my pocket sending coins flying. I bent down and picked up the coins one by one, when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something standing near. I quickly spun my head in that direction and saw an opaque black mist changing transparency and shape as I watched. It stood from the floor to the ceiling and had movement sort of like the spinning of a tornado, only in slow motion. I held my position, head lowered, eyes transfixed on the entity.

  At first it seemed like it wasn’t aware of my presence, but then the swirling motion stopped and a low humming sound, like the flapping of a thousand insect’s wings, came from the center of the mist then lowered itself to the floor.

  I was frozen with fear, unable to rationalize what my eyes were seeing and my ears hearing. Then a ribbon of black began to form on the floor, like a ball of yarn being unwound. It rose and fell but never more than a few inches as it stretched itself out, growing longer, the sound increasing in intensity.

  I felt my leg cramping up from the awkward position I had frozen myself into and tried to stretch it out slowly without distracting the being. But it didn’t work. The moment I began to relea
se the tension, the ribbon froze, then shot out straight at me without any warning. Instinctively I ducked and threw myself forward towards the opposite wall. I stood up and saw the ribbon swirling and enclosing the area that I’d just been in. It remained attached to the larger shape but seemed to be operating of its own accord. Almost like it was the brain and the large shadow was some kind of anchor.

  Self-preservation kicked in and without a single thought I found myself hurling over the black ribbon slithering on the floor. At that moment I was grateful for all that track and field practice. Without even looking back I sprinted towards our room, key in hand, and quickly inserted it into the slot. Only when I heard the click did I look back down the hall to see the mass reeling in the ribbon. It was less than a foot away and was changing from black to gray rings of smoke, giving the carpet the appearance of being on fire. It slithered back to the anchor mist, which was also taking on a smoky appearance with traces of deep black piercing through. The sounds had stopped with the exception of the ring of the elevator as it paused at our floor. By the time the elevator door opened and its occupants had unloaded themselves, all traces of the mist had disappeared.

  I stood facing our closed door, resting my head against it, trying to breathe slowly and evenly before I entered the room. What had I just seen? Was it the same phantom being that had jumped on the hood of the car? It had to be the same…the same, what? I didn’t even know what to call it.

  My mind flashed to Bram’s comment about timing and a sense of urgency since this thing was obviously trying to get to me. I slowly turned the doorknob and entered the room. Composing myself became my priority as I listened to Dad’s ongoing conversation with Mom.

  “The exhumation will be soon, so until then I can‘t say…” Dad’s usually strong voice now sounded tired and weak. “Ok, honey, I’ll call when I have more information…yeah, she’s right here. Willow, Mom wants a word with you.”

  Hearing Moms voice filled me with comfort and calm. We chatted for only a few minutes but it helped nonetheless. After I hung up the phone I sat by Dad on the bed.