The Secret of the Dread Forest: The Faire Folk Trilogy

by Gillian Summers

  “Didn’t your mother oak tell you that?”

  “I never talked to her. When I was an acorn, I remember being warm in the earth, and the sound of the forest all around me. Then I remember pushing through the earth, and there you were. And that cat.”

  “Didn’t the aunties tell you about the seasons?” Keelie couldn’t believe she was having a birds and bees discussion with a tree.

  “The aunties are nice,” Alora said. “They told me stories of the Dread Forest. Did you know that I have the Dread, too? I just haven’t learned how to use it yet.”

  “You can hold off on that as long as you like.” The last thing she needed was a tree radiating the curse in her own bedroom.

  Alora’s leaves had perked up as they talked, and Keelie realized that she was feeling better, too. Moping in her bedroom wouldn’t resolve anything.

  “Alora, I have to talk to my dad. I’ll catch you later.”

  “But it’s later now.”

  “Don’t whine. I’ll come to bed in a little while. You can still talk to me, in my head.”

  “Not so much. The farther away you go the less I can hear you. The trees around here are too big, and there are too many of them.”

  “So may it remain,” Keelie said automatically. “See, I’m catching up.” Catching up after years of living in L.A., away from the forests. She closed her eyes and tried to conjure up a mental image of where her father was, and immediately saw him at a table in the living room, a sketchbook in front of him. He was working on furniture designs. He looked up, as if he’d felt her mind probing for him, then returned to his work.

  Keelie opened her bedroom door and stepped into the hallway. No strange portraits here, as at her grandmother’s house. A colorful woven cloth hung on the wall, and at the top of the stairs, a kite shaped like a leaping salmon floated from its string, whirling around whenever a draft caught it.

  She remembered that kite from when she was little—it had been a disturbing object when seen through toddler eyes. She always swore that her father kept a giant fish in his house, and it swam around on the stairs. Her mother had told her to stop talking nonsense, and the memory had faded, only to return when she’d walked into the house yesterday.

  The stairs at the end of the hall curved like the whorl of an ear, and she walked down with her fingertips on the polished banister (mahogany, from an exotic forest, far away). In her head she practiced how she would apologize.

  “Feeling better?” Her father’s quiet voice interrupted the silence, but still seemed a part of it. He was so at home here. And he seemed energized, as if his home forest fed some need that had been drained during his travels.

  “Not much. I wanted to say that I’m sorry, Dad. I was causing problems, and you didn’t deserve it.” She got it all out in one breath. Not the smoothest, but it worked.

  Dad’s face relaxed and he stood and opened his arms wide. She slid into his embrace and put her cheek on his shoulder, grateful for his warm, strong presence. She’d never had this before, not in her whole life. Until she came to live with him, she only remembered her mother’s hugs. Mom was always busy, so, sweet as they were, the hugs never lasted long enough.

  One thing that pleased her about the elves was that they lived a long time. Dad was already over three hundred years old. He wouldn’t leave her like Mom had. He wouldn’t die.

  “We need to talk, Keelie. Sit down.”

  She crossed to one of the armchairs on the other side of the fireplace and sat on the edge of the seat cushion. He was going to blast her and she’d take it, but she wouldn’t take back the pleasure of seeing Risa’s humiliation. That had felt just right, even if it had made Risa explode.

  Dad paced before the crackling fire. “Your grandmother is a strong woman, with strong opinions,” Dad said. “But she’s weakening. She’s not as she once was.”

  Holy cow. If this was weak, she must have been the Terminator before. “Is she sick?”

  He shook his head. “Very old. And tired. Humans encroach more on the forest every day, and the Dread is weakening. She’s getting tired of fighting.

  Keelie thought of the development at the bottom of the ridge.

  Her father continued. “So now, as her sole heir, I must take over some of her duties. I must be at the forge when they start the new swords, preside over all public ceremonies and celebrations, communicate with the other forests and their tree shepherds, and serve on the Council.” He turned to look at Keelie. “You know how much I hate this added business. I’d much rather stay in the forest as a tree shepherd.”

  “You’re still a tree shepherd, right?” She couldn’t imagine Dad away from the trees—although in this forest, that wouldn’t really be possible.

  “Yes, of course. These are added responsibilities. I still have to do my work.”

  “So why don’t you guys just beef up the Dread? I’d have to live in a tektite tent, but that would stop the construction and logging, right?”

  “Yes, it would. It’s not so simple, though.” He looked into the fireplace, watching the flames greedily devour the bark from the logs. “I will need your help, Keelie.”

  “Sure.” She could oversee the studly sword-making at the forge. No problem. She pictured sweaty elf guys banging on steel. On second thought, maybe it would be a little too.…. rustic.

  “To begin with, you’re to start classes with the Lore Master in the morning,” Dad continued. “And don’t grumble about it. Do me proud.”

  The Lore Master? The Elven Lore Master was none other than Lord Elianard. “Who else is going to be in school with me?” Keelie asked quickly.

  “As far as I know, you’re the only one. Risa was the last baby born in the Forest, and that was years ago.”

  “I’ll bet everyone was disappointed. Especially her parents.”

  Dad frowned at her. “Risa’s already finished with school.”

  “I guess she got her Melon diploma. Heh.”

  “This is serious, Keelie. It signals the end of our people.”

  Keelie suddenly realized that she’d seen no children here. Weird. She’d never seen an elf child anywhere, now that she thought about it. “So where are all the kids?”

  Her father sighed. “We’ll talk about that another time. It’s a tragic tale.”

  “You sound like a movie trailer.” Keelie rolled her eyes, and then something else occurred to her. “Where do elves go to college?”

  Dad shrugged. “An Elven Lore Master will teach you more than the humans’ universities ever will, but I went to college because I wanted to know more about the mundane world. That’s where I met your mother, of course. You’ll be the only student at our school right now, and Elianard will concentrate only on you. You’ll be safe, Keelie. Knot and the trees themselves will watch over you.”

  She hoped it would be enough.

  “Elianard hates me. Why are you doing this to me, Dad? Have you forgotten what happened with Einhorn? What if Elianard tries to kill me?”

  “Elianard will not hurt you. He knows his duty, and besides, he’s not as strong as he once was. He has great respect for our ways—he will not go against Keliatiel’s wishes.”

  Keelie thought of her grandmother and wondered what Keliatiel’s true wishes were.

  Her stomach cramped as she considered hours alone with her least favorite person. Peachy.

  four

  The next morning, Keelie reluctantly headed to her first class. She left the house and started across the green (which was rightly named—the grass would have made a leprechaun proud). She stopped suddenly, wondering if leprechauns were real. Given the creatures she’d seen so far, they probably were. Her life had changed so drastically from the busy and organized existence she’d once had in Los Angeles with her mother.

  Keelie felt a pang at the memory of her mom, who’d died in the spring. Sometimes it felt like forever, then other times it felt as if the accident had happened only days ago.Still other times she was overwhelmed with the desire to
call Mom and share something she’d seen, or heard, or thought. Those were the moments that haunted her the most.

  Keelie headed toward the other side of the village. The green was busy today, full of elves preparing for the harvest festival. A cart full of pumpkins sat on the side of the trail. Keelie glanced across the green to where the massive aunties stood, towering above the other oaks that ringed the space. Their great roots extended toward the Caudex, the petrified remains of an ancient tree that had once stood in the center. The base of the Caudex now held the Council thrones.

  The Lore House was on a rise just past the last house in the village. Long and squat, it sat like a great half-tim-bered toad, its windows glinting in the sun.

  Elianard was waiting for her by the front door, reading a book that was spread open across his lap.

  “Good morrow, Lord Elianard,” she said, summoning her father’s lessons in elf etiquette. Elfiquette. She was sure no one here called it that. All the more reason to enjoy the sound of it.

  Elianard glared at her with cold green eyes, showing how little he wanted to be there. “You are late.” He indicated an empty wooden armchair next to his. “Sit, our first lesson will be witnessed by the trees. Tell me what you know of elven lore.”

  Keelie walked to the chair and lowered herself slowly into its smooth, wide seat (oak, from this forest). “I know the Dread makes me nauseous, that Red Caps are dangerous fairies, and that unicorns are vulnerable.” Green eyes met green, two shades of the forest, and held for a moment before his slid away.

  Three hours later, Keelie’s mind was as numb as her backside, suffering from an overdose of elf history—the migration from Europe had done in most of it.

  Elianard must have noticed her glazed eyes. “What do they teach humans in your schools?”

  “Lots.” She tried not to sound defensive.

  “Name some examples, please.”

  “History, math, geometry, and science.”

  Elianard sneered. “Science. Human scientists think they know so much about the Earth, but they don’t. They think that nothing is real if they can’t prove its existence. A scientist would tell you the Dread is not real.” He pointed at Keelie and arched an eyebrow. “But you know differently, don’t you, Keliel? As a human, you may not know what it is, but you feel its effect.”

  “What is the Dread, exactly? And aren’t you supposed to teach me how to handle it?” She picked up the book, which Elianard had placed on a table. “I’ll bet there’s nothing in your lore about the Dread.”

  Elianard snatched the Lore Book from her and opened it to a passage written in flowing script. He read aloud: “‘Building a Tolerance to the Dread. Should the Dread affect you, build a tolerance by exposing yourself to it for increasingly long periods of time. If done on consecutive days, your body will build a magical barrier against the fear the Dread’s magic creates.’”

  Exposing herself. She thought of herself naked among the Aunties. She didn’t want the trees to see her naked.

  “Duh. I am in the woods; I’ve been exposing myself to the Dread day and night.” She pulled the pink crystal from her pocket. “This is what works for me.”

  Elianard smirked. “Earth magic. Without your quartz, without the tektite, you’re open to the Dread, but soon your own magic will be able to protect you. Do not depend on objects to magnify your power. Even if your purpose is for the higher good, you’ll pay a high price.”

  “You should know,” Keelie said. Although she didn’t mention the unicorn, the tension in the air was palpable.

  Elianard ignored her jibe and turned the Lore Book over. He pointed to a symbol on the back—a wavy-lined, concentric circle with a thorn-wrapped acorn hanging from the outer edge. Keelie stared at it. It was the same symbol as on Elianard’s amulet, which was now hidden in her room. But it was also a mirror image of one she had just seen recently.

  She remembered it now. Grandmother’s book.

  “Look closer.” Elianard said, pushing the book toward Keelie.

  The symbol seemed to move. It pulled at her, and she lifted her hand, stretching her fingers out to touch it. A chill emanated from it, deepening until it made her fingernails throb. She pulled back and rubbed her fingers together.

  Knot hopped into Keelie’s lap, breaking her trance with loud purring and kneading her with his paws. The symbol was once again just a picture in a book. What was it about the spiral and the acorn that had put her under its spell? She reached out toward it again. Knot sank his claws into her leg. She gasped.

  “Did you feel its power? Even a drawing in a book can summon the magic from within you and make it stronger.” Elianard said. “I think—”

  Knot’s purring grew so loud that Keelie couldn’t hear Elianard over the feline roar. The symbol seemed to grow, and she was lost in longing to touch the acorn. Her finger reached for it once more. What would happen if she followed the grooves, touching each curve?

  Something touched her arm and she jumped up, startled. Knot tumbled to the ground.

  “Is everything okay?” Dad stood over her. Relief welled up in Keelie as his hand closed around her upper arm, giving her the extra support she needed.

  Knot meowed at Keelie as if he was scolding her for dropping him, then walked away with his tail bushed out. He wasn’t happy. He had a cool cat image to maintain and somebody, or something, was going to pay. Some unsuspecting feithid daoine was going to be on his hit list, but Keelie wasn’t worried—the bug fairies always retaliated.

  Knot was sure to come home pink, or shaved, or smelling weird.

  Elianard slowly rose from the bench and said, “I was advising Keelie to expose herself to the Dread without the shielding magic of her rose quartz. She needs to build her natural resistance, now that she lives among us. She can’t rely on rocks and crystals to keep the Dread at bay.” He held out the book.

  Dad took the book from him.

  Keelie’s heart raced, wondering what would happen when she saw the symbol again. It was eerily hypnotic, and so enticing. Her fingers still tingled, wanting to touch it. Dad turned the book over and ran his hand over its smooth binding.

  The symbol wasn’t there.

  Dad touched the embossed oak tree on the front cover, then nodded at Elianard. “I think you should try it, Keelie.”

  “No way am I going to walk around the Dread Forest without my quartz or tektite.” She was resigned to living here, but to go without any protection was like throwing her in a lake and telling her to swim. She wasn’t going to doit.

  Grandmother Keliatiel appeared behind Dad. “Good morrow, Tree Shepherd, Lore Master. And Keelie. How did your lessons go this morning?”

  “I’m amazed humans have survived as long as they have,” Elianard said, then sniffed.

  Keelie hoped this was the beginning of a cold.

  “I didn’t expect you to come here, Mother.” Dad didn’t seem surprised to see her, though. “I came to ask Keelie and Lord Elianard a question.”

  Her grandmother nodded her head regally. She was really beautiful, in a white-haired, elderly way. Too bad her insides weren’t as nice. Definitely not a bake-cookies-and-cuddle kind of granny. “Very well. I came to inform our Keliel that Lord Niriel has generously consented to give her lessons in swordsmanship and horseback riding.”

  “Fencing lessons?” Keelie asked. She’d fenced at Baywood Academy one semester, but had stopped when Laurie wanted them to run cross-country instead because the shorts would show off their legs.

  “No, fencing is with foils and rapiers,” Dad said. “Niriel will teach you to use a broad sword.”

  “That sounds dangerous.” The Faire jousters wore swords, and they hacked away at each other after all of their lances were broken and tossed aside. Even choreographed, it looked deadly.

  “You are going to learn how to use a sword.” Grandmother glowered at her. “It is part of our history and part of our culture, and I expect you to understand every aspect of our society.”

  El
ianard stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I am expected at Lord Hamriel’s house. I’ve been invited to a celebratory tea in honor of his daughter’s betrothal.” His voice was strained, as if it was an effort to be polite when saying this out loud.

  Keelie winced. She wondered what he really thought about the engagement of his daughter’s old boyfriend, but she thrust aside the train of thought. She’d tried very hard not to think of Sean and Risa’s betrothal again, but hearing it from Elianard was like having a broad sword stab her through the heart.

  Grandmother Keliatiel looked at Keelie. She thought she saw a concerned expression flash across her face, but it disappeared quickly. Dad’s hand was once again on Keelie’s shoulder, offering support. Keelie fought tears, imagining Knot making an appearance at the betrothal ceremony and causing havoc.

  It didn’t help.

  Later, at Grandmother’s house, Keelie slumped in a chair at the dining table as Grandmother poured tea into blue glazed pottery mugs that looked a lot like the ones Ellen the potter had made at the High Mountain Faire. The peppermint tea’s aroma was bracing and delicious.

  Dad passed her a plate with a slice of pumpkin bread. Keelie accepted it, but ignored it after she set it down by her cooling tea.

  Outside, Ariel would be getting restless, but Keelie couldn’t take her out until she’d had her fencing lesson.

  Dad motioned with his head, and Keelie knew what it meant. Sit up.

  She did, even though she wasn’t feeling all elfy and regal.She sipped her tea, then reached for Dad’s sketch book and pencil and began drawing in a corner of one of his design pages. The symbol had been etched into her mind. Maybe if she drew it, she could purge it from her imagination.

  Grandmother folded her hands together in her lap. “I understand that you feel that Sean has betrayed you, but you must understand that he faced a difficult choice. Wisely, he chose the good of his people over his desires.”

  Keelie drew some more. She’d heard this kind of bogus thinking before.

  Dad refilled her teacup with peppermint tea. Keelie sat a little straighter.

  “You see Keelie,” Grandmother continued, “the elves have a different way of thinking. Our ways are a living link to history. Back in time, the royal marriages of Europe were based on what alliances were best for the countries, to keep the peace or ensure what was best for society.” Grandmother waved her hand vaguely. “Elianard said you had studied history in school.”