‘Start with the most obvious questions, dear,’ Nan says. I give her a suspicious look and wonder if reading minds is one of her ‘talents’.
‘Okay,’ I say. The picture of Tinkerbell with her little fairy wings and wand pops up in my mind. ‘Which of the myths are true and which aren’t?’
‘There are a lot of myths, dear. You’ll have to be more specific.’
‘Like fairies stealing children and playing tricks on people.’
‘Hmf!’ says Sandra, ‘It’s easy to blame what you don’t understand.’
‘What do you mean?’ I slice a tomato in half and turn to look at Sandra but it is Nan who answers.
‘There was once a time when we did not hide. The Maor lived side by side with humans and there was no need to conceal our talents, but the humans did not understand our kind and many of them were afraid of our abilities. So, for every unexplained calamity or natural disaster, they were quick to blame us and the stories spread. They resulted in many unfair persecutions and even deaths. After the Salem witch hunt, we went into hiding and slowly moved in amongst the humans.’
‘So the Salem witches were actually Maor?’ I ask.
‘Some of them,’ Nan replies, ‘but there were many innocent human victims too.’
‘So, none of the myths are true?’
‘There are some truths in the stories,’ Nan says, folding her hands into her lap. ‘Myths arise from true events, recounted and embellished with each telling, until the short woman becomes an inch tall and the man who jumped across a stream becomes a winged creature who can fly. Of course, unless you know the origin of each story, it’s impossible to identify how much of it is embellishment. Perhaps the man was really a Maor who flew over the stream but he most certainly did not have wings.’
‘I see,’ I say, dicing the tomato and sliding the small squares to the side of the cutting board, ‘so if the myths about fairy wings aren’t true, then what about werewolves, vampires and witches?’
‘All of those things are Maor descendant, Bluebell. They are just names given to groups of Maor who have fallen prey to the lure of power and practice a certain art or ritual. Weres are named so because, like wolves, they hunt and eat raw meat because it gives them heightened senses and animal-like abilities. Vampires drink blood, it gives them extended life-span, speed and quick healing. Witches practice either dark, or healing arts.’
‘So how can I tell them apart from the Maor?’
‘The only way you would be able to identify these various factions, is by their eye color and their aura.’
‘Eye color?’
Nan frowns.
‘You need to be more observant, Shaylee,’ she scolds, ‘look at the three of us.’
I look from Nan, to Sandra, and think of the green-grey hue of Kael’s eyes, the aqua of Tristan’s and the emerald of my own.
‘We all have green eyes,’ I say.
Nan nods.
‘The shade of our eyes says a lot about each of us, it denotes the purity of our blood and the extent of our talents. Those who mess with dark practices taint their auras, and this changes the color of their eyes.’
‘So do vampires really have red eyes?’ I ask.
Nan laughs and shakes her head.
‘You’ve seen too many movies. A vampire might have brown eyes, perhaps black. They might appear bloodshot, depending on the amount of blood consumed. A Were’s eyes often look hazel but jaundiced.’
‘But, humans have brown or hazel eyes too,’ I say.
It feels a little strange to say ‘humans’, like it’s something apart from what I am.
‘Right,’ Nan says. ‘So, unless you know they are Maor, the only full-proof way of identifying other factions is through their auras, however, the ability to see auras is not a common Maor talent.’
‘So, how am I supposed to protect myself then?
‘That’s what you have Kael for,’ Nan says.
Kael’s name sends a ripple down my spine. I want to ask Nan about the electrical connection between us but it feels somehow too intimate. What if what happens when Kael touches me isn’t normal? What if it is?
I grab a cucumber and start slicing, keeping my voice neutral and my next question vague.
‘How does this seastnan thing work?’
‘Well,’ Nan says, ‘it’s actually very similar to the blood promise, except that a blood promise mate is chosen, whereas a seastnan is born of a specific bloodline.’
‘Chosen? Who chooses?’
‘The Tanistry.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s our governing body,’ Nan says, ‘but you’ll learn more about them in Maor history lessons.’
‘History lessons?’
‘Yes, dear,’ Nan replies, ‘all of our children attend Saturday history lessons from age eight to twelve. You’ve missed out on them and have a lot of catching up to do.’
The idea of attending class with a bunch of eight to twelve year olds doesn’t particularly appeal to me, but I’ll grab every chance I can, to learn more about the Maor – about who and what I really am.
‘What else will I learn about?’ I ask.
‘Many things,’ Nan replies, ‘some important historical events, how our society works, where everyone fits in, how we interact with humans, our talents and most importantly, about our link to this forest.’
‘What do you mean by ‘our link to this forest’, Nan?’
‘We are completely interdependent. Without us, the forest will die; without the forest, we are nothing.’
‘So…if something happens to the forest we would all die?’
‘No, but it’s the forest that gives us our magic. Without it, we would be nothing more than human.’
I ponder this a moment, as I slide the quartered slices of cucumber into the salad bowl. A thought enters my mind and I bite my lip again.
‘But what about mom and dad? They left the forest.’
Nan glances sharply at me.
‘That was different.’
I open my mouth to ask why but shut it quickly when I see the look that passes over her face. Okay, guess I’ll file that one away for another day.
‘So, how do we protect the environment?’ I ask, choosing what I think to be a more neutral topic. ‘I mean, at the rate our forests are being cut down…’
‘We do what we can through the organizations and groups we have set up, like Green Peace, World Wildlife Fund, the Forest stewardship council and the United Nations Environmental program, to name but a few. We study and work in fields relating to the protection, research and development of the environment and wildlife. Of course, we also use our ‘talents’ to grow and protect the forest, but those things are done behind the scenes.’
Sandra limps around the counter, a pile of plates in her hands and begins to set the long dining table. I grab the pile of cutlery off the counter and set the table beside her; like it’s something natural we’ve done all our lives. I like the feeling.
I’m just formulating my next question from the mental list I made last night, when Kent and Jake come bundling in through the kitchen door. Kael trails behind them at a more sedate pace and the kitchen erupts into a kind of ordered chaos as plates are filled and dishes get passed around. Everyone takes their seats and I end up between Kael and his brother.
I smile and give short answers when Kent and Jake try to draw me into conversation, preferring to just sit and watch the family dynamics at play. Everything about the Gregor family is warm, sunny and loud. In contrast, Kael sticks out like a sore thumb. He sits quietly and chews his food, eyes on his plate. Every now and then, I catch him looking at me out of the corner of his eye, but he is quick to divert his gaze when I try to meet his eyes. I wonder who he inherited his intense nature from. His mom? His dad? Where are his parents anyway?
‘So Shaylee,’ Kent says, interrupting my thoughts, ‘is my big brother here going to let you join in the outdoor festival next week?’
Let me?
‘Yip,’ Kent shoves a brochure at me. ‘The Forest of Dean nine day outdoor festival. It happens every spring. There are tons of outdoor activities planned like abseiling, caving at Clearwell, cycling tours and-’
‘Cycling? I love cycling!’ I exclaim, then my face falls. ‘Problem is you need a bicycle for that…’
‘I have a spare mountain bike you could use,’ Kent volunteers.
‘When is it?’
‘Next Sunday,’ he says, ‘a bunch of us from Aylburton are going to do a trail along the Severn. You and Kael can meet us at the memorial hall, that is, if Kael’s up to the challenge…’
Kent throws his brother a daring look and earns a glare in return.
‘Of course, I’ll take her myself if you’re too -’
‘She’s not going anywhere with you,’ Kael growls.
‘Oh, come on,’ Kent retorts, dropping his fork with a loud clatter. ‘I’m just as capab - ’
‘That’s enough boys!’ Jake interrupts. ‘Kael, you’ll cycle with Shaylee. I think it’s a great opportunity for her to meet some of the other Maor her age.’
An awkward silence ensues as the boys glare at each other across me.
I clear my throat. ‘That was so lekker, Mrs. Gregor,’ I say, trying to dispel some of the tension. It seems to work because everyone looks at me.
‘What did you say?’ Kent asks.
I give him a quizzical look and wonder what I’ve said wrong. ‘I just said thanks.’
‘No, that word you used – what was it? Lak or something’
‘Oh,’ I smile. ‘It’s Afrikaans. Lekker. It means great or tasty.’
‘Lekker?’ Kent repeats the word in his very English accent and I giggle. ‘Thanks Grams that was lekker!’
I giggle again and soon everyone is laughing and trying to pronounce the foreign word, except for Kael. Sandra starts to clear away the dirty plates and I stand to help her, but she waves me away.
‘I’ve got it, love. You go sit on the porch with Kael. I think you two have some things to talk about.’
Kael and I look at each other and I wonder if he’s wishing Sandra hadn’t spoken, but he turns toward the door and I follow him out.
Chapter 13
Smothered
Tastes like: Pancakes drowning in maple syrup.
Smells like: Stale air.
Sounds like: Heavy metal music.
Feels like: A heavy woolen blanket, covering your fever-ridden body.
Looks like: A snake’s jaws, wrapped tightly over a zebra’s snout.
I follow Kael back through the house to the front porch, where he perches himself on the top wooden step, long legs spanning the stairs to the ground. I sit beside him, loop my arms around my knees and stare out at the shadowed forest that edges the garden. The silence between us is awkward and once again, I feel too embarrassed to ask the questions that are really on my mind, so I opt for a vague question.
‘So, how does this bodyguard thing work then?’ I ask.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you like, go to school with me or what?’
‘Yes,’ he says. I wait a moment for him to elaborate but when he doesn’t, I prompt:
‘So you’re studying English then too?’
‘Is that what you’re studying?’
I nod and swallow as his eyes flicker across my face, like that isn’t quite what he expected of me. He turns back to his pensive study of the tree-line.
‘No,’ he says simply.
I’m beginning to feel irritated by his monosyllabic responses.
‘No, you’re not studying English?’
‘No.’
‘Then how will you -’
Kael cuts me off with an amused laugh and leans back on one arm.
‘You haven’t changed much,’ he says.
I drop one leg to the step below and twist to glare at him. I want to tell him that he knows nothing about me, but the implication of his words stops me.
‘Wait - you knew me before we left England?’
Kael shoots me a disbelieving look.
‘You don’t remember?’
‘Remember what?’
He frowns and searches my face – for what, I’m not sure.
‘Do you remember anything about living here?’
‘Very little,’ I say. I drop my eyes to my lap and bite my bottom lip. This is not a topic I feel comfortable discussing. There are too many gaps in my memory and it makes me feel a little sad. ‘I was pretty young so it’s always been a little -’
‘Hazy,’ Kael and I say the last word in unison.
We stare at each other and he gives me an odd, almost pitying look.
‘Well, I’ll be…they actually did it…’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing.’ He looks strangely hurt, but quickly shutters his expression.
‘I see you still bite your lip -’ he observes, in a voice that has switched from vulnerable to aggressive in the space of a sentence. His tone automatically makes me defensive.
‘I do not -’ I stop short, realizing that my bottom lip is indeed, between my teeth.
Kael takes one look at my cornered expression and quite unexpectedly, bursts out laughing. I watch in astonishment as tiny creases appear at the corners of his lips, transforming him into a young, carefree boy, leaving no trace of the serious young man from moments before.
I say nothing for a while, and just watch the laughter ripple across his features, certain that such an occurrence is rare, and mesmerized by the beauty of his slightly off-kilter smile.
‘How come you and Kent are so different?’ I wonder and bite my lip again when I realize I’ve spoken out aloud.
Kael stops laughing. I feel an inexplicable disappointment as the little boy slips behind the dark mask of his frown.
‘That’s an odd question.’ His reply has a defensive edge to it. ‘Just because we’re brothers doesn’t mean we should be the same, does it?’
‘Of course not,’ I say quickly, ‘but Kent is so much like your grandfather and I was just wondering who you took after in your family?’
Kael’s brow creases and he looks past me. One side of his face catches the sinking sun-rays, the other is hidden in the deep shadows of the afternoon.
‘I guess I’m a lot like my father was.’
For a split-second, his expression looks so forlorn, that I reach out to him.
‘I’m sorry. What -’
My hand connects with his forearm and he jerks to his feet.
‘I think we should lay down some rules.’ The soft edge in Kael’s voice has been replaced with a sudden sharpness and his eyes are once again shuttered with that familiar, passion-sorrow expression I am beginning to associate with him.
‘Rules?’ I push to my feet and turn toward him, arms crossed over my chest. He’s used one of my least favorite words of all time.
‘Number one: you go nowhere without me.’
‘What do you mean nowhere?’
‘I mean nowhere. I need to know where you are at all times.’
‘That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?’ I ask, feeling my defenses rise in natural response to his sharp tone.
‘That’s how it’s got to be. Rule number two -’
‘Just how many rules are there?’
‘Number two,’ he repeats with a hard look, ‘I say jump, you jump, no questions asked.’
I grip my upper arms and glare at him.
‘Don’t look at me like that. Your life is at stake. Number three: you tell me the truth – always. That’s it, three simple rules. Follow them and we’ll get along just fine, break one, and you’ll be dead before you can say ‘sorry’. Are we clear?’
I stare at him, shocked. The little boy I’d glimpsed earlier has nothing in common with this cold, hard dictator. Where has he gone and what has brought on this sudden change?
‘Are we clear?’ Kael repeats, slightly louder.
/>
‘Crystal,’ I reply, swivel and stalk back into the house.
I spent an hour this afternoon trying to lookup Maor on the internet, but all I could find was a reference to a Jewish agricultural Moshev, established in 1953. There is a lot of stuff about the Sidhe and fair-folk, but I have no way of knowing which parts are true and which are ‘embellished’. I got a few results when I searched ‘five-fold’, on the other hand, but it all seemed so vague and new age, that I gave up my search in favor of writing, and for the past half hour, I’ve been staring at the word ‘Smothered’ at the top of a blank page in Five. I’ve worked myself up so much, thinking about Kael’s rules that I can’t even think of five measly sentences.
With a deep sigh, I flounce off the bed and throw the windows open wide. I need to get out of here. I need to stop thinking about Kael’s rules. I need to breathe. I need to dance, but I can’t do any of those things with Kael breathing down my neck.
On a sudden impulse, I grab my phone off the bed and head downstairs. I avoid the front rooms, and head toward the back, but Nan is there, staring out of the kitchen window. I hesitate, and then head across the kitchen toward the door.
‘Where are you going, Shaylee?’ Nan turns and asks when I’m only halfway to the door.
‘Just for a walk,’ I say.
‘Did you tell Kael?’
I groan and roll my eyes.
‘I’m pretty sure a walk in the garden doesn’t need a bodyguard, Nan.’
She gives me a disapproving look, and pats the stool beside her.
‘Come sit,’ she says, ‘I think you and I need to have another chat.’
I sigh and drag myself to the stool, bracing for a lecture.
‘I know you’re struggling to come to terms with all of this, Shaylee but you need to understand the severity of your situation.’
‘It can’t be that serious, Nan,’ I say with a skeptical look. ‘I mean, nothing happened to you, right?’
She frowns and dips her head to stare at her hands for a second. She reaches out and takes my hand in hers.
‘I didn’t want to scare you, Bluebell, but I don’t think I have a choice. You need to believe, otherwise…’
She lets her voice trail off and I can see the fear and concern in her emerald eyes.
Five: A Maor Novel (Maor series) Page 8