Forest of Lost Secrets

by Emmett Swan

  “Strips cut from the stomach of a cow,” said Uncle Basil, now smiling wide. “Delicious!”

  “Okay dear, enough of your fun,” said Aunt Noreen, touching Uncle Basil’s arm. “You don’t want to scare off our guests.” She turned to Jessica. “He’s kidding. Some locals do eat kidney pie and tripe fritters, but I wouldn’t recommend them. Meeda is cooking cottage pie and soup. Cottage pie is made from mashed potatoes and beef stew. It’s very good.”

  “Ah, I see,” said Jessica. Cottage pie sounded okay, although Uncle Basil’s joking had doused her appetite.

  “Do you like your rooms?” asked Aunt Noreen.

  “Yes,” replied Jessica. “Very nice. And I love the view out the window. The fields go on forever.”

  “Everything is so green around here,” added Riley.

  “It’s the time of year,” said Uncle Basil. “Late spring and early summer, everything is fresh.”

  “Ireland is called the ‘Emerald Isle’ you know,” said Aunt Noreen.

  “I can see why,” said Jessica.

  “I hope the two of you will go out exploring. There are streams and country lanes and delightful gardens and stone cottages all around. Very picturesque. And everybody is friendly.”

  “Well, most everyone,” cautioned Uncle Basil. “Stay away from ol’ man Tinker’s cottage.”

  “I would like to explore,” said Jessica. “For inspiration for my poems.”

  “And I hope you’ll share a few of your poems with us while you’re here,” suggested Aunt Noreen.

  “Careful what you ask for,” remarked Riley.

  Aunt Noreen smiled. “I’m sure they’re lovely.”

  “Dear, doesn’t Shelly write short stories?” asked Uncle Basil.

  “Yes she does!” Aunt Noreen grabbed Jessica’s forearm. “Shelly and Grace are Emma and Molly’s best friends. They live less than a mile away if you go by road. Less than that if you cut across the fields, which they often do. You’ll meet them soon.”

  “Indeed,” said Uncle Basil. “Emma and Molly have more friends than we can count. Girls and boys your age.”

  “And now they’ll be your friends,” added Aunt Noreen. “There are a number of fun social events planned for the summer where you’ll have the chance to meet them.”

  They heard a shuffle and all heads turned to Gerald, who stood quietly by the door to the kitchen.

  “Is it ready, Gerald?” Uncle Basil asked. “Please, go ahead and serve.”

  Jessica stood up. “May I help?”

  “No, no dear,” said Aunt Noreen. “Please sit down. This is what we hire Gerald and Meeda to do.”

  Jessica sat back down, her brow furrowed.

  “Will they be eating with us?” asked Riley.

  “They have a table in the kitchen,” said Aunt Noreen.

  “We don’t mind if they want to—”

  “Do you two like horseback riding?” asked Uncle Basil, cutting Riley off.

  “I do,” said Jessica. “Though I haven’t ridden much.”

  “We have two mounts stabled out behind the barn—Dottie and Grey Girl. They’re quite tame and familiar with the local pathways and lanes. Perhaps you and Riley will find the opportunity to ride sometime.”

  “Sure,” said Riley.

  “Sounds like fun,” added Jessica.

  Gerald came into the room, rolling a silver service cart, and began ladling out soup from a large silver tureen.

  “This is a traditional cabbage and ham soup,” said Uncle Basil. “Good stuff.”

  Gerald went to Jessica first. She picked up her soup bowl and stretched it toward Gerald as he scooped out a ladle full. When he saw the bowl next to the soup tureen, he sneered and waited, holding the ladle in place.

  “Dear,” said Aunt Noreen, “I’m sure Gerald appreciates your help, but please return the bowl to your plate and he will ladle your soup there.”

  “Sorry,” said Jessica. “Just trying to make it easier.”

  Everyone at the table remained quiet as Gerald filled everyone’s soup bowl and rolled the service cart back into the kitchen. Jessica noticed Uncle Basil was lost in thought as he peered out the dark window. He always seemed to be in deep thought about something.

  “All this silver is pretty,” said Riley. “Is it old?”

  Jessica picked up her fork and examined it. It was unusually heavy.

  “Very old,” said Aunt Noreen. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

  “I’m sorry, what did you ask?”

  “We were just saying the silver was old.”

  “Ah, yes. Old indeed. And there’s a story behind it. Some of these antique pieces were part of a silver service set awarded to my ancestor by the merchants of Galway during the Napoleonic Wars. He converted a merchantman, which is just a trading vessel, into a warship and used it for the protection of Galway’s merchant fleet.” He picked up a butter dish and displayed it as an example.

  “Unfortunately, some pieces have been lost over the years,” added Aunt Noreen. “It was a beautiful set.”

  “Wow, so we have a naval hero in the family,” said Jessica.

  “Well,” said Uncle Basil, “at least the Galway merchants thought he was a hero. If a merchant lost even one ship, it could mean financial ruin.”

  “This place is steeped in history”—Aunt Noreen reached over and touched the back of Jessica’s hand—“as you will no doubt discover in your explorations. I was fascinated when I arrived here many years ago.”

  Gerald re-entered the room with a tray and began collecting empty soup bowls. Riley picked up his bowl and started to hand it to Gerald but caught himself and set it back down, with a glance at Uncle Basil and Aunt Noreen.

  “Thank you, Gerald,” he said as Gerald removed his bowl.

  Gerald took the empty bowls into the kitchen and returned with the cottage pie. This time, he served everyone without incident. Jessica enjoyed the dish and noticed that Riley cleaned his plate. As Gerald was clearing the table again, Jessica looked at Uncle Basil and Aunt Noreen. “This will take some getting used to,” she said. “We’re not used to servants.”

  “I know,” said Aunt Noreen. “And you two are both just trying to help. But let Gerald and Meeda do their jobs. By trying to help, you may inadvertently offend them.”

  “The two of you must be exhausted, with your travels and the time change, so please go ahead and retire,” suggested Uncle Basil. “We’ll see you two in the morning. And don’t worry about Gerald and Meeda. You’ll get used to things in no time.”

  Jessica nodded, and she and Riley stood up.

  “Thank you for dinner,” Riley said. “It was good.”

  “Yes, very delicious,” said Jessica, conscious of her awkward phrasing. She was, indeed, tired. She and Riley said their good evenings and climbed the stairs to their rooms for their first night in Connaree Manor.

  Eight

  Back in her bedroom, Keeva let the heartbreak of Neasan’s treachery wash over her. Sitting alone on her bed, she sobbed freely. The hurt was almost unbearable. But in addition to the pain she felt, something new was brewing within her soul. Something dark and unfamiliar, yet gratifying. It was a desire to hurt. To strike out at those who made her feel so miserable. Neasan had tried to toss her aside for this other woman. Who does he think he is?

  Anger grew and Keeva became enraged. Her rage was not only focused on the man who had deceived her and had tossed her love aside but on that loathsome woman, Princess Velthia, who had ripped her dreams away and made them her own.

  She collapsed on her bed, despair and hate swirling together in her head. She grabbed the material of her bedclothes and squeezed them into a ball, tighter and tighter. Her sobs became louder and her cries broken.

  There was a knock on her door, and her father poked his head inside.

  “Dear, are you okay? I could hear you crying out in the hall.”

  Keeva didn’t reply but just shook her head as she convulsed on her bed. Brecan placed a concerned
hand upon her shoulder.

  “Keeva, my dearest, I’ve never seen you like this. What is it that troubles you so?”

  Keeva glanced up at the distressed face of her father. He was a just man, truly interested in ruling Derfaria with as benevolent a rule as possible. And she knew he loved her and was obsessed with keeping her protected from the grasping clutches of men. Yet, Neasan had still managed to break her heart. Her father had failed to protect her.

  Perhaps there was a way her father, with the unquestioned powers of a king, could help her to have her revenge. Perhaps there was a way he could help her strike back at the deceitful Neasan for what he had done, and at Princess Velthia for what she had taken from her. But she couldn’t tell him about her heartbreak. He would need a different, more compelling reason to get involved.

  “Father! Oh, my father!” she cried.

  “What has happened, my dear Keeva?” asked King Brecan, his concern growing. He sat down on the bed beside her and held her face toward his. “Have you been harmed?”

  “Not in the way you think. I’ve not been physically injured. But yes, I’ve been harmed. For this morning, as I bathed in my private chamber, a man appeared before me in a flash of green light. He identified himself as Neasan, a denizen of Panagu. He had used a red elixir to travel to Derfaria and his green elixir of invisibility to enter my chambers. He said he had watched me undress many times and desired me to come to him. I could see his ugly face distorted in lust as he gazed at my nakedness.” It surprised Keeva how easily the untrue words came into her mind and from her mouth. But the lie gave her a feeling of power and control.

  The king stood, staring at Keeva with wide eyes. “Is this true?”

  “Yes. Yes! I was surprised and stunned by this man suddenly appearing before me in my private domain. But as he approached me, intending to put his hands upon me, I began screaming and yelling. I lied and said there were guards outside the door and they would put an end to him. My cries were convincing and frightened him away. But not before saying he would return.”

  “A man from Panagu has entered your bath?” cried King Brecan, his face red with rage. “Did he touch you? Who is this Neasan? I will have him killed!”

  Her father’s rage filled Keeva with a surge of gratification. But was it enough? Would the violation of her personal honor be sufficient to earn the kind of action her heart now sought? She had to be sure.

  Keeva took her father’s hand. “He did not touch me, though I am certain he would have had I not raised such an alarm. But father, there is more. This Neasan told me he has many accomplices. The young men of Panagu, for sport, often visit our realm in secret, spying on our young maidens as they undress. Perhaps some of them do more than watch. I cannot say.”

  “Panagu!” erupted King Brecan, now pacing energetically back and forth in Keeva’s bedroom. “The men of Panagu make base sport of our women?” He struck his palm with his fist. “They violate the sanctity of our lands? It’s outrageous! I will have justice,” he roared.

  He turned back to Keeva, and with softer words he said, “My dear daughter, I will have chaperones in your chambers until this is dealt with. You mustn’t fear that this will happen again.”

  Keeva embraced her father. “Thank you, Father. I knew you would look after me. But…” She broke her embrace and looked down. “How will you know? He could be here now, even as we speak. Even with chaperones in my private chamber, he could watch me bathe with impunity. And all the others can do the same.”

  King Brecan didn’t speak but clenched his fists and his jaw. He slowly shook his head. “Panagu!”

  “Strike at them, Father. These men could return at any time. You must strike at Panagu. Imprison Neasan. You must take vengeance.”

  Her father nodded vigorously in agreement. “Yes, I will take action. We must if we are to keep our maidens secure.”

  Keeva’s eyes brightened and she wiped her tears away. “Strike at them!” repeated Keeva in a voice so shrill and piercing, it surprised King Brecan. “They must pay for humiliating the women of Derfaria!” She was kneeling on her bed now, fully engaged in the lie she wove and the thrill of the response it elicited.

  King Brecan stared out of Keeva’s bedroom window and put his hand to his chin, his face scowling. Keeva knew, though, that her father was considering his options. He was a wise king.

  “It may come to that,” he said finally, “but I will meet with my advisers to consider our options. Keeva, darling, do you have any evidence of what has transpired? Did this Neasan leave anything behind?”

  Keeva looked down, thinking. It was just her word against Neasan’s at this point. What proof did she have? She frantically searched her memories. Ah, yes!

  “I just now remembered!” Keeva said, already scrambling off the bed and rummaging under it. “Here!” she proudly exclaimed while producing an empty glass vial that Neasan had discarded on a previous visit. “I heard something hit the floor and roll under here just before that vile man scurried away. This must have been it.”

  “What is this? An empty vial?” said King Brecan, studying the object.

  “Look carefully, my father. Can you not see tiny traces of a green substance at its base? It is norl, the green elixir of invisibility that is made in Panagu.”

  King Brecan held the vial up to the window. “Yes, I do see specks of a green liquid aglow with magic. I will give this to Iragram for analysis.” He tucked it into his sash.

  “If it is norl, will you make war with Panagu?” asked Keeva.

  “War? Perhaps. Justice for certain,” the king reassured her. “But I cannot decide this rashly.”

  “If you send the War Gryphons into the heart of Panagu, they will think twice before degrading the women of Derfaria.”

  King Brecan took Keeva’s hand. “What happened to you is awful. But war is also an awful thing. I must think this through. But do not fear. Even if there is no war, we will make this right. Of that I assure you.”

  Nine

  Jessica awoke to her first morning in Ireland with haunting memories of Curtis flooding back into her head. Almost every morning since that day, she awoke with the same heavy thoughts. She did her best to shrug them off and went to look out the window. After all, she was in a new country.

  She pulled up the blind and peered out at the rays of the early sun reflecting off the dew on the green grass, glittering like magic. All around the house, wisps of mist hung about the fields like light shrouds of cotton candy. It was so different from her modern, suburban neighborhood back home. Perhaps being away from all things familiar was a good thing. It felt good to be distracted.

  She pulled out a pad and pen and sat down on the dormer bench to write a poem. She described the beautiful landscapes before her and how excited she was to be in a new country, a whole strange world for her to explore. But it didn’t take many verses before her thoughts turned to Curtis again.

  She wondered what he would have thought about Ireland. She couldn’t be sure. She hadn’t known him all that long. Strange, though, that he had felt like he knew her well enough to tell her he loved her. Her heart fell.

  She couldn’t force herself to write down that it was her fault. That her rejection of him, after he had revealed his feelings toward her, had pushed him to his death. But wasn’t it her fault?

  Looking out over the countryside, she tried to capture her feelings. Her mind returned to the cove where they had parked the boat and were floating on the water. She and Curtis were kissing and laughing. It made a bittersweet smile come across her lips even now—she couldn’t help it. In her mind’s eye, she was tracing the tattoo on his arm with her index finger. She liked to do that because she had never felt a tattoo before Curtis. She had been surprised it was smooth, just like his skin. She smiled wider, remembering Curtis snapping at her like a dog, trying to scare her. He succeeded. She had splashed water in his face.

  Then without any warning, he switched to a low and serious tone. “I love you, Jess,” he sa
id. His hand, which had rested on her waist, moved down to her hip and slipped under the top of her bikini bottom. His fingers pushed their way further down and his face leaned in toward hers. She had squirmed away.

  She hadn’t known what to say. It was so unexpected. She had never heard that from a guy before. She felt like it was serious, and for some reason, a little off for her. She couldn’t figure out why she resisted. Maybe love was there deep down, but it wasn’t quite ready to come out. She just wasn’t ready to say it. And she certainly wasn’t entirely ready to hear it. So instead of responding, she ducked under the water and lingered a second or two, thinking. She resurfaced and settled her arms once again atop the purple noodle she was floating on. She’d felt him staring at her but could not return his gaze.

  “Is it that bad?” he asked. He sounded hurt and slightly annoyed. She could feel his eyes searching her face. Despite the cool water, her cheeks felt hot and flushed.

  She stammered and confessed, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “‘I love you too’ would be nice,” he quipped. “But hey, don’t want to put words in your mouth.”

  After a long silence, he shook his head then dove under the water away from Jessica. He came back up near the rear of the boat by the boat ladder.

  “Let’s get outta here,” he called back to her as if nothing had happened. He pulled himself up the ladder. “Let’s do some skiing, Douggie!” he yelled at Doug and Sylvia. Jessica had made her way to the boat ladder, unsure what had just happened and how she felt about it. She decided she would bring it back up later.

  Then he started drinking, then skiing, and that day turned into a nightmare Jessica could not forget. Or forgive. He was dead by day’s end. He told her he loved her, and she snubbed him. Why? Why didn’t she just say it? Why did she hesitate? Why couldn’t she just know herself? Be sure? Be confident? Put things out there? Why did she have to overanalyze everything?

  Maybe if she could have just said what she felt right then—the joy of being with him, the excitement, the passion; it was all there. It seemed so obvious now. Why couldn’t she have seen it then? Why not say it then? It could have meant the difference between him behaving as he did and still being alive.