The Forest of Aisling: Dream of the Shapeshifter (The Willow Series Book 1) (7 page)

 “And,” interrupted Quinn…“will you do it
again?” That was the million-dollar question. 

We all looked back and forth at one another, each
of us lost in our own thoughts.  The silence was broken when Uncle Eagan
called to us from the porch, “Come here for a moment, youngsters.”

We made our way back towards the house, Quinn in
front and Kelleigh by my side.  She held onto my arm as if she somehow
felt responsible for me.  I was relieved to have these two helping me try
and figure out what was going on.  I had been feeling so alone after Dad
left me to fend for myself.  As we neared the creaky wooden steps of my
grandfather’s front porch, my mind flashed on the other unanswered
questions.  What happened to my grandmother Shannah and how did she die
and was all of this somehow connected?

Uncle Eagan led us back into the house and motioned
for Kelleigh and Quinn to go into the other room.  He took me aside
“Willow, your grandfather would like to speak with you for a few moments, all
right?”

“Oh yes,” I answered following Eagan to where
Grandfather had been sitting earlier.  When we entered the room Grandpa
jumped, like we just woke him up from a nap.

“Conor, here she is… Willow.” Uncle Eagan pulled
out a chair for me to sit on and then smiled, turned, and stepped out of the
room, closing the door behind him.

 Grandpa slowly looked up and over to where I
was sitting.  “Hello, my dear.” His voice was quiet and raspy, almost like
it hurt him to even speak.

“Hello.” I couldn’t bring myself to say Grandpa,
even though I wanted to.

“It’s very nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” I smiled, looking into his eyes, so
much like Dad’s.

I glanced around the room; it was an office or
study.  Books lined the shelves on the wall along with old pictures
hanging throughout.  The yellowing photographs reminded me of the
turn-of-the-century museum that Mom and I went to a few years ago.  The
pictures there were of Native people and early western settlers. 

These pictures were of the Irish countryside and
people wearing long dresses and clothing from years past.   The
furniture was old too: antique chairs and an old roll top desk, sort of like
the one we had at home, only this one had much more detail, with lots of
carvings on the back.  The swivel chair that sat in front of it had a
ripped cushion and scratches from years of use.  I caught Grandpa’s eye while
doing my visual exploration and smiled.

“Is your father coming back, Willow?” he asked.

“He said he would, to pick me up.”  I tried
hard to hide the frustration I was feeling towards my dad.

“Ah, I see,” he lowered his head then stood up and
sat on the sofa a few feet away.  “Will you join me over here, please?”

I walked over and sat down on the sofa.  It
smelled old and musty and the paisley fabric was worn; I could feel a spring
push up on the back of my leg.   I noticed that Grandpa had several
pictures in his left hand. 

“I thought you might enjoy seeing some of these
photographs of your grandmother since you never had a chance to meet
her.”  He handed me three photos of a young woman; pictures like the one
Dad had shown me of Grandma before our trip.

I studied the first one; it was a portrait,
something like a school picture, from the shoulders up.  She must have
been about my age, had a long braid draped over her shoulder and a slight smile
which curved to the left.  It freaked me out a little bit because when I
first looked at the picture it reminded me of myself.  Her expression, the
tilt of her head – I’d seen pictures of myself looking that same way.

 The second picture was of her and Grandpa on
their wedding day.  Grandpa sat in a chair and Grandma stood beside
it.  I’d seen lots of old-time wedding portraits and it always surprised
me at how the man would be sitting and the woman standing, I guess a statement
on how things were back then.  Their expressions were sort of grim and somber,
not happy like you think they’d be on their wedding day.  Mom and Dad’s
wedding pictures were polar opposite. They’re laughing, smiling, really happy
looking. 

The third picture was a muted color shot of
Grandma with a baby.  She wore a red sweater over a white Peter
Pan-collared blouse.  Her auburn hair was long and pulled into a single
braid that rested over her shoulder like in the first picture. Her pale
complexion was contrasted by rosy cheeks which most likely were natural, as it
didn’t look like Grandma wore any makeup. She had a huge smile and looked serene. 
The baby was reaching up and had his little fingers woven into her braid. 
He stared straight at the camera with pursed lips and a trace of a frown. He
had on a pale blue shirt and matching blue shorts.  His little feet were
crossed and shoeless.

“Is this Dad?”

“Yes, he was about six months old; a wee tot at
the time.” Grandpa leaned into me, looking at the picture. For a moment he
looked as though he was going to cry; his eyes were damp and teary.  He
ran a finger over the image of his family and gently shook his head.  “It
goes by too quickly, my dear,” he spoke softly in a whisper. 

He straightened up and pressed his back against
the sofa, exhaling a sad and frail breath.  I looked at him closely and
felt convinced that if there were questions surrounding Grandma’s death, my
grandfather had absolutely nothing to do with it.  I’d never felt more
certain of anything.   

We sat together for what seemed to be hours,
looking at pictures and chatting.  I was surprised how at ease and
comfortable I felt with him. He told me stories of the early days when he and
Grandma first met and then when they got married.  He spoke about her with
so much love; you could just feel it when he talked about their times together. 
Being with him, sharing these special moments, left me wondering how my father
could be so angry with this man – his own father – who, right now, was gentle,
sweet, and poignant. I was feeling so comfortable and close to him that, before
I knew it, I blurted out the question that had been eating away at me for as
long as I could remember.

“Grandpa, what happened between you and Dad?”

His blue eyes grew teary once again and he blinked
several times in an effort to fight them back.

“He’s not told you why he hasn’t been here for all
these years?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the picture of Dad as a baby.

“No, and he doesn’t like me asking about it. Can
you tell me, please, what happened?”

“Ah, child, it’s a complicated and difficult
situation.  Things that happen many years ago have the power to magnify if
they aren’t dealt with immediately.  I’m afraid that’s what’s happened
here with your father.  In my younger days I was a stubborn and ignorant
man.  Your grandmother warned me that if I let too much time pass without
remedying the situation that it may never be resolved.”

“What
is
the situation, Grandpa?” I leaned
closer, my hand resting near his on the sofa.

He rubbed his forehead and eyes as though he was
trying to muster up the energy to re-live whatever it was that had caused such
a gap between him and Dad.  “Years ago, when your father was about six
years old, I was taking him on a little boating trip.  We went to our
favorite spot over in the park there, uh, that’s Killarney Park. Have you been
there yet?”

“Yes,” was all I said; I certainly wasn’t going to
go into any detail about my experience there.

“Well, your father, he loved to fish and boat, so
one day we packed up all our gear and drove over.  We had a favorite spot
by the lake and made our way to it.  I had planned a big surprise.”
Grandpa began coughing then finally cleared his throat.  “Uh, but before I
continue, do you know the whole story about our fam–”

Suddenly the door to the study opened and there
stood Uncle Eagan. “Conor, your guests are leaving, best come say farewell.” He
reached his hand out to his brother.

Grandpa looked at me and smiled, “We’ll finish
this later,” he said quietly, slowly lifting himself to his feet. “Feel free to
stay here and look at more of the pictures.” He stared into my eyes and brushed
my cheek lightly with his right hand before shuffling out of the room.

No!
I thought to myself.
What terrible
timing Eagan
!  It was so frustrating being that close to finally
getting some answers about the rift between Dad and Grandpa and then to have it
stop.

 I sat and looked around the room once
again.  Being alone freed me up to study its contents in greater detail.
My eyes caught sight of another pile of pictures sitting on top of the roll top
desk.  I went over, sat on the swivel chair, and spun around but stopped
immediately because of the loud squeaking noise coming from it.  My hand
moved over the top of the pictures, separating them here and there and looking
quickly through the pile. 

My grandparents’ lives were now being played out
in this pile of old, faded, pictures; lots of them in front of their house, in
town, at gatherings.  There were portraits of him, of her, of the two of
them together, some shots of her with a baby, him with a baby… so cute. 

Then my fingers came upon a picture that puzzled
me.  It was another portrait-type shot, one they had done by a
photographer.  It was a picture of Grandma and Grandpa sitting side by
side, all dressed up like they were going to a wedding.  A small child,
less than a year old, sat on Grandma’s lap with his head cocked to one
side.  He was wearing a little cap and an adorable little suit.  He
gripped Grandma’s arm and held a rattle in the other hand.  This child was
the same one in the other pictures so I figured it was Dad.  The strange
thing was that the lower portion of the photograph had been ripped away. 
All that remained of Grandpa in the picture was the right side of his upper
torso, shoulders, and head.  Looking closer, I could make out what appeared
to be a small hand resting on Grandpa’s right hand.  Whoever that little
hand belonged to had been ripped away from the rest of the family.

I scratched my head and pulled the picture closer
in an attempt to study all the details and see if there was something that I
was missing.  There was nothing, just the small hand resting atop
Grandpa’s as it sat on the arm of the chair.  The whole set-up of the
picture suggested it had been a family portrait.  I bit my lower lip,
trying to figure out why it had been torn and who the little hand belonged
to.  I grew up believing my dad was an only child, but now what was left
of this photograph suggested otherwise.

Out in the hallway I could hear footsteps and
talking, so I quickly pulled out my phone, snapped a picture and moved all the
photographs back into their pile.  I shot back over to the sofa and
started looking through the pictures sitting there when Grandpa returned with
Uncle Eagan holding onto his arm, leading him to his chair.

“Willow, your Grandpa here is feeling very
fatigued. Perhaps you can come back later and visit him after he’s rested.”

“Come now, Eagan, I’m quite all right,” shot
Grandpa, swinging his cane in Eagan’s direction.

 I had to admit he looked really tired. 
I stood up and hugged him and promised I’d come back again before we
left.  He held on tight before letting go. “You do that, dear girl; we
have much to talk about.” He smiled and eased himself into his chair.

I felt nothing but warmth and affection from my
first meeting with my grandfather and was even more mystified about what may
have fractured the relationship between him and Dad.

I rode back to the hotel with Uncle Eagan. 
He didn’t want to bother Dad to come and get me since he was on his way to town
anyway. When we got there I hugged him and thanked him for the ride.  I
was beginning to feel really close to him and remembered what Mom said about
this being an opportunity to meet some amazing people and Uncle Eagan surely
was that.

I unlocked the door to our room and noticed Dad
sleeping in his bed.  Seeing him there filled me with more and more
questions.  The afternoon with Grandpa was amazing; I just couldn’t
understand what might have happened between the two of them that led my father
to sever all ties with his parents. What could have made him so angry?

 I changed my clothes and got comfortable,
brushed out my hair, and grabbed a bottle of water.  I slipped behind the
curtains covering the sliding glass door to the balcony and quietly stepped
outside. I pulled the chair up to the railing and sat down, stretching out my
legs and resting my feet on the ledge.  The sun was close to setting and
the cloudy sky took on a threatening appearance, like a major storm was on its
way. 

A family of four walked down the pathway in front
of the hotel, two little boys with their parents.  It started me thinking
about the pictures I’d seen at Grandpa’s and how close he was to confiding
something in me, something about “our family.”  Obviously it had to do
with the portrait I saw of him and Grandma with two children. 

I peeked through the curtain and saw Dad tossing
in bed, but he quickly settled down and began snoring again.  I couldn’t
help but wonder if that other child was his sibling and where he or she had
gone.

 My attention turned back to the walkway,
when who should come walking on the path but Kelleigh and Quinn.  Quinn
caught sight of me sitting at the window and waved.  They both motioned
for me to come down. As I approached, they were arguing as usual but quickly
stopped. 

“Willow! How are you, how was it with your
grandfather?” Kelleigh asked, ready to burst.  The two of them circled me,
no doubt anxious to continue our discussion from earlier.

“It was good, very good.” I could feel Quinn
breathing on the back of my neck, he stood so close.  “He was sweet and
told me a lot about Grandmother. He also showed me tons of pictures. It was
really nice; I didn’t want to leave,” I answered, rubbing my neck to ease away
the goose bumps.

“That’s great, glad to hear it,” Kelleigh replied,
grabbing hold of my arm and leading me to a bench nearby.  It always felt
like we were involved in some sort of espionage whenever I got together with
these two.  She leaned in closely, whispering, “I’ve got some more
information about, um, well, you know, about last night.”

 “What kind of information?”

“I went over to a friend’s house whose mother has
a huge collection of books on the puca and other Celtic creatures.  She
let me borrow several, which I’ve been reading.  There’s a lot of
information here about shapeshifting and about wolves; one wolf pack in
particular that once roamed Killarney Park; remember I was telling you about
that pack?”

“Um, yes…”

“Well, this book goes into a lot more detail, has
dates and names.  If we can get a bit more information, I believe we’ll be
able to start putting some of the pieces of this puzzle together.” 
Kelleigh’s eyes were darting all over the place; she loved the intrigue.

I looked at Quinn who stood above us staring down
at his sister.  He caught my glance and shook his head, “Calm down,
Kelleigh, this isn’t some silly game, this is serious.”

“Of course it’s serious,” Kelleigh shot back, “but
it’s also incredibly exciting. Willow…” she stopped, put her hands on my
shoulders, and again stared straight into my eyes. “Willow,
you
are a
shapeshifter. I know after last night that’s obvious, but there are many
different creatures in Celtic folklore and I needed to pin down exactly where
you fit in. It’s an ancient but not unheard-of ability.  In fact, long ago,
there were loads of shapeshifters. They were considered to be spiritual
counselors and leaders.”

Kelleigh’s words were dancing through my
brain.  I found it easier to accept that I was a shapeshifter than a
leader or spiritual counselor.   I had a teacher in fourth grade who
actually called me Wrong-way Whelan.  I was always getting turned around
in the hallway and ending up in the wrong classroom, so to be considered any
kind of a leader… yeah, not so much.

“Maybe it’s a onetime thing, you know, like the moon
and the stars were all in some sort of perfect alignment,” I murmured as I
started chewing on my thumbnail.

“I don’t think so; from what I’ve read, once you
shapeshift, it becomes part of you.  But there’s still so much I need to
research.  What are you doing tonight, I mean, you and your father?”

“I don’t know, he’s napping.”  I nodded
towards the room upstairs; as I looked up I saw Dad standing there looking down
at us. He rubbed his chin, expressionless, and stared at me. I waved and he
stepped back into the room closing the curtain
.

“My parents would like you both to come over for dinner;
it would be a perfect time for us to go over some of this information. 
Your dad would be taken care of by my folks, so we could do some serious
research.”

“Uhm, ok, I’ll see what he says, but Kelleigh,
what about… my grandma?”

“Don’t think for a second I’ve forgotten about
Shannah! There’s more I can tell you when you come over.  Quinn and I just
stopped off to extend the invitation.  We need to pick up some things for
dinner.  I hate leaving you like this, but our parents are expecting us to
be right back. Willow Whelan, your arrival here in Killarney has stirred up
quite a hornets’ nest, hasn’t it?” she cringed and smiled at the same
time.  The girl was really getting into all of this.  Wish I felt the
same way.

Dad was hesitant at first when I extended the
invitation for dinner.  For the most part my father wasn’t a social
person.  He worked hard all day and when he came home at night all he
wanted to do was to read his paper and watch football or whatever sport was on
TV.  Mom would get him out on occasion but, as a rule, he was a
homebody.  After I threatened to call Mom he finally agreed, so we headed
off. 

When we arrived he was quickly ushered off by his
cousin John and I was taken aside by Quinn and Kelleigh.  He looked over
his shoulder as he was being led down the hallway, frowning with the same look
he had when he stood at the hotel window.   I shrugged, wondering
just what he expected me to do.  I followed Quinn and Kelleigh down the
opposite end of the hallway until we came to a door with ‘Stay Out!!!’  stretched
out across the door in pink police tape.

“Go ahead.” Kelleigh motioned for me to
enter.  Her room looked a lot like my own.  Posters hung on the walls
along with clothes lying all over the furniture.  Books, magazines, and
CDs covered her dresser, and on her bed lay a huge orange tabby cat. It
reminded me of my own cat Max and made me miss my little fur ball.  I went
over and tried to pick him up.  The instant I reached down to him he let
out a low gurgling sound and pricked his ears back. He hissed and scratched my
hand, then flew out of the room like some kind of trapeze artist.

“Willow, I’m sorry!” Kelleigh rushed over
inspecting the scratches.  “Berra has never reacted like that before...I’m
so sorry.” She left the room and came back with two Band-Aids. 

While she tended my scratches Quinn was busying
himself on his phone. “She’s a stupid cat, Kell, get rid of her.”

“I will not!” she shrilled. “But I do apologize
for that Willow, don’t know what got into her.”

“Maybe she senses something,” Quinn added without
lifting his head.

Kelleigh and I both looked at Quinn and back at
each other.  I know we were sharing the same thought:
Maybe Quinn was right
.

We sat on the floor going through the stack of
books Kelleigh had picked up.  Quinn grabbed a large blue one with the
back cover missing.  It obviously was very old.  “Now this looks
promising,” he said flipping through the pages.  ‘Shapeshifters of Celtic
Ireland’, sounds like its written just for you, Willow,” he joked.

Kelleigh and I pulled closer together and began
reading with intensity the first few pages.  Some of the book was in the
Irish language, which, until I met Kelleigh, I hadn’t even realized existed.
She informed me that there were many languages in Ireland, Gaelic, Celtic and
Old Irish. I thought English was their only language.   I was glad I
didn’t share that lame assumption with Quinn and Kelleigh.  I was also
glad I didn’t comment when Kelleigh started talking about the gods, that I had
automatically assumed she was speaking of the Greek or Roman gods…didn’t know
there were Irish gods.  Live and learn.

While we all read to ourselves, Kelleigh kept “Ah
ha’ing” and “Oh my’ing” through the most interesting parts.  Quinn punched
her a few times, but that didn’t stop her.  She was devouring every word
like my dog Chance would devour a hamburger.

I wasn’t sure what to make of some of the text. It
was confusing, and a part of me was still in disbelief that anything had
happened at all.  It almost felt like we were just playing some sort of
elaborate game.

“Willow, I think we need to go back to the park
tonight.” Kelleigh’s eyes fired at me.

“Are you quite mad?” Quinn grimaced as he dropped the
book to the floor.

“No, not at all. Don’t you see?  Willow
must
go back to the park to get some answers; she must do it before she goes home.”

Home, wow… it seemed so far away right at this
moment, not just distance-wise, but in every other way.  “What do you
think will happen?” I asked Kelleigh, fearful and at the same time knowing what
her answer would be.

“I think you’ll change into a wolf again, and
maybe this time you can find out what the other wolf wants from you.  That
is, if the other wolf appears again.”

Kelleigh’s words began echoing in my head, then
distorting into some sort of electronic-type sound. I felt myself spinning as
though I was on a merry-go-round.  My vision went dark for a few seconds
and then I completely blacked out.  When I opened my eyes again, Quinn and
Kelleigh were crouched above me with worried expressions.

“Wh… what happened?” I asked.

“You tell us,” Quinn mumbled as he reached under
my shoulder, easing me up from the floor into a sitting position. “We were just
about ready to get your Pop, thought you may have passed out or something.”

“I guess I did,” I said, biting my lip. “Never
have done that before.”  I rubbed the back of my head.  A tingling
sensation filled my entire scalp and my ears were ringing.

“Don’t think this is a good idea, Kell,” Quinn
frowned, looking towards his sister. “There are too many things we don’t
understand about this. For all we know she could change, run off, and we may
never catch her!”

Kelleigh returned to her spot beside me on the
floor. She leaned forward and put her head in her hands, turning the pages of
the book.  For the first time since I met these two siblings, minutes went
by without either one of them making a sound.  Quinn fixed his stare on
his sister and she had hers fixed on the pages of the book.  I closed my
eyes, tried to relax and breathe.  It was all catching up and I was
becoming completely and utterly overwhelmed by the whole situation.

“You’re right, Quinn, there’s too much risk
involved.” She seemed disappointed but resigned to the idea of just letting
everything go for now.

While
the two continued talking, I stood up and joined Dad in the other room. 
He sat on a sofa facing two wing back chairs.  Quinn’s parents sat in the
chairs and smiled when I entered the room.  A small fire crackled in the
fireplace and a delicious aroma wafted in from the kitchen. Dad and his cousin
were engaged in a political conversation. I leaned my head against his
shoulder.  The sound of their voices was comforting in a way.  Low
voices, boring subject matter, I soon found myself drifting off into a light
relaxing sleep.  I felt Dad grab hold of my hand and that set me off into
deeper relaxation. 

Soon their voices were replaced by the sounds of
nature
…birds singing, crickets chirping, breezes blowing.  There were
no pictures in this subconscious state, only sounds and darkness which was
occasionally interrupted by a gleam of light, almost like it was rotating; it
just kept passing through the darkness.  The light became stationary and
produced a thin spotlight stretching from the top to the bottom of my field of
vision.  In time the sounds faded and only the light stood glowing in the
darkness.  Its shape began transforming, from a square to a circle to a
triangle to a teardrop. 

The teardrop shape stretched out and the edges
of it softened and curved.  The glowing inside of the shape began to
hollow itself out, leaving only an outline of its former self.  It then
began throbbing, its glow taking on a twinkling effect.  From it rose an
exact duplicate of itself, and then another.  The three touched end to
end.  Chimes began to sound and each shape spun randomly at first, then in
some kind of elaborate pattern.  The sounds grew louder, the brightness of
the shapes grew brighter, and then came one super-charged flash of light.

When my eyes were finally able to focus through
the brilliance I could see the shapes had joined together and become one. 
It glowed uniformly now and with it returned the sounds of nature. Its light
soon lost its brilliance and changed to a tranquil, earthly shade of
green. 

A whispering voice sounded in with the chorus
of nature…Triquetra, Triquetra, Triquetra, it said, low and soft. 
My
eyes opened and for an ephemeral moment, I was back in the forest.