The Secret of the Dread Forest: The Faire Folk Trilogy (3 page)

Risa leaned into Sean and placed her hand against his shoulder. Sean did not move away. Keelie swallowed hard.

A stout elf with a small pointed beard put an arm on Risa’s shoulder and bowed to Keelie. “Lady Keliel, welcome to the forest. I am Hamriel, Risa’s father. I farm the south face of the mountain. The vegetables we eat tonight are from my fields.” He smiled fondly at his daughter, tugging her toward him. She stuck to Sean and glared at Keelie. His smile grew forced. “Risa farms as well. She is noted for her prowess with green things. Her melons are famous.”

Keelie choked out, “How do you do?” She bowed in return, noting that Risa did not let go of Sean although her father clearly wanted her to do so.

Dad walked around the table and took her plate out of her hands and put it down.

“Come, Keliel, there’s someone I want you to meet.” When she didn’t move he tugged on her elbow. “Keelie?” His voice lowered. “Just walk away.”

She heard him, but she couldn’t move. Her feet were frozen to the floor, and her eyes were locked on the betrothed pair. She imagined picking up her drink and throwing it into the girl’s face. Or tossing the dish of messy, smelly cheeses at her.

She wondered how much of her thoughts were visible on her face. Dad was looking worried. Then a movement by the front window caught her eye—Knot, stalking some
imaginary prey. He must have sensed her stare, because he stopped and turned to look at her.

She looked right into his eyes and thought hard. She kept trying to project her thoughts until his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, flashing kitty fang in laughing appreciation.

Keelie smiled at her father. “Dad, chill. I’m fine, really.” And she was. Knot was on the job.

She followed her father to the other side of the room, not even looking back at the so-called happy couple.

Moments later a stifled scream and concerned murmurs made everyone turn.

Risa’s dress had split all the way up the front, exposing her underwear. Two fat white circles lay on the buffet table—Risa’s cleavage. Keelie coughed to cover her laugh. So much for the famed melons. Her grandmother and several guests were busily trying to cover the distraught girl. Sean was looking either mortified or as if he was about to break into laughter.

“Well done, Round Ear. What did you do to her?” The sweet whisper in her ear made Keelie freeze. She turned her head just a little. Sure enough, her old adversary, Elia— Elianard’s beautiful, haughty daughter—was standing close enough to kiss her cheek.

“Me? Not a thing.” Keelie straightened. Elia was still looking at the disaster scene and now her eyes widened. A long, fluffy orange tail stuck out from under the tablecloth.

“Oops. Excuse me while I, ah, get another sandwich.” Keelie raised an eyebrow. “You want anything?”

Elia blinked slowly, letting her golden lashes rest on her porcelain cheeks for a split second. “I want exactly what you want, Keliel Heartwood.”

“Tough,” Keelie replied, not believing a word of what Elia said. Then she put a hand to her mouth. “Oops. Did I just say that?”

Across the room Risa was glaring at them, her eyes in slits as she looked from Keelie to Elia.

“Oh, if gazes were daggers we’d be dead, Keliel,” Elia purred. “Act like you’re my friend.”

Friend? Elia didn’t even qualify as an enemy. Keelie wished she’d never met the vain, self-centered, and dangerous elf girl, but she knew that Elia just wanted to mess up Risa’s head even more. And right now, Keelie wanted that as well. She was ready. The two girls put their arms around each other’s waists and smiled back at Risa, who was now wrapped in a borrowed, oversized robe. Several of the elf women looked startled to see Keelie and Elia standing so close together. Keelie’s father did a double take.

Good. Let them all guess.

“I’ve had about as much fun as I’m going to tonight.”

Keelie pulled her arm free and turned away.

Elia grabbed her long sleeve and tugged her close again. “Don’t leave yet. Stick around.”

“She’s all yours. I’m going to bed.” Keelie felt queasy. She must look bad if even Elia was trying to make her feel better. No wait, that couldn’t be. This was
Elia.

Someone was plucking a lively tune on a harp, and Keelie jumped. Harps always signaled bad magic.

“Relax. Mine broke, remember?” Elia hissed.

Keelie didn’t relax. Elia’s magic had been potent.

Dad was with his mother, who was trying to soothe Risa, now surrounded by a crowd of sympathetic onlookers. Keelie headed toward the door, eager to slip outside.

“Now you’ve had your fun, so you’re sneaking out, Keliel?” Risa’s raised voice stopped the party noise. She was stalking toward Keelie, her hands clenched like claws.

Keelie faced her red-faced rival. “I’ve done nothing to harm you, Risa.” If she took one step closer, she’d clock the wench.

The elf girl pulled the borrowed bathrobe tighter around her body. “You think you’re so important, don’t you. Tree Shepherd. Granddaughter of the Lady of the Forest. But for all that, what are you really? You just appear out of nowhere and suddenly you can do magic and talk to the trees.”

Faces turned from one girl to the other, as if evaluating them. They didn’t look shocked, and Keelie wasn’t surprised. Maybe Risa was just saying what they had thought all along. Keelie felt her expression freeze, her cheeks cold and stiff as if made out of clay.

“Why would I hurt you, Risa? This is my party.”

Risa screamed, and threw a platter of sandwiches at her. Keelie ducked and it hit the window draperies behind her. “You’re evil,” Risa shrieked. “Round Ears sent you to destroy us. Your so-called family is under a spell. You aren’t related to them. Changeling!”

The chick had gone psycho. Grandmother’s face was
pale with shock. Dad was pushing his way through the crowd toward Keelie.

A mighty bang thundered through the room, making the windows rattle. Etilafael swept forward, a tall crystalencrusted staff in one hand. “This will cease,” she commanded. “Such behavior. Lord Hamriel, remove your daughter from this house.”

Lord Hamriel scuttled forward, head bowed apologetically. “Lady Keliatiel, a thousand pardons. I don’t know what has come over my beloved daughter. High strung, you know.”

“I am not!” Risa cried. She started to sob. “She thinks she can have my fiancé, too. Just look at her.”

Knot jumped up onto the table, his puffed-out tail swishing back and forth like a pumpkin-colored toilet brush.

Risa’s eyes squinted almost shut. “I hate cats. And you are no cat. It was you who destroyed my pumpkins last year with fairy magic.”

She picked up a pitcher of honey wine and threw it at him. The pitcher’s handle caught on a tray and tumbled across the table, drenching Knot in sticky, honey-scented wine. His back arched and he hissed at her, swatting the air with an extended paw that seemed to have claws like hypodermic needles. Seconds later he vanished, leaving a puddle of honey wine on the table where he’d stood.

Keelie took advantage of the commotion and slipped outside. Elia was leaning against the rough stone of the outer wall, laughing.

“That was perfect. How did Knot destroy her gown so thoroughly?” She bent over, trying to catch her breath. She waved at the air in front of her face, as if trying to waft more oxygen close.

“It wasn’t funny. No one in that room will ever forget that scene. And it was supposed to be my party, too.” Keelie tried to frown, but a smile split her face. “Did you see her bra stuffing on the table like two biscuits?” She laughed, setting Elia off again. The two held on to each other, howling, tears streaming down their faces.

“Hrm.” Elianard had followed them outside, and was now clearing his throat to get their attention. A frown furrowed his aristocratic face. “Elia, it is time to go home.”

Elia wiped her face with the palms of her hands. “Good evening to you, Keliel of the Honey Wine.”

Keelie snorted. “And good night to you as well, Elia of the Snarky Comments.”

Moments later, Knot was at her side, his fur dry and soft as if the whole incident had been her imagination.

“Well done, Snot,” Keelie said, aiming a kick at Knot’s rear. He purred like an outdoor motor and moved faster to avoid her boot. Weird kitty. He didn’t like to be loved on, saving his purrs for when she threatened him.

She looked toward the ridge. Was the boy still out there? If he was, he’d be in for a long, cold night. It got chilly here after dark. It was a hike to get out there, but maybe she’d run into him again. She shook her head. What was she thinking? She’d had enough of boys for one night. She detoured past the aunties to pick up Alora.

“Let me stay longer, please?” The little treeling spoke aloud instead of telepathically (or in what Keelie called “tree speak”). Alora was in a new, larger terra-cotta pot that would accommodate her spreading root system. The magical acorn had grown quickly on their trip from New York to Oregon, much to Keelie’s dismay.

“Nope. Time to get inside.”

Thank you, Great Ones, for sharing your knowledge with Alora.
Keelie knew that they probably were aware that they were called the aunties, but she didn’t want to offend them.

All is well, Tree Shepherdess. The treeling learns much.

Yeah.
Keelie moved her skirts aside and picked up the heavy clay pot. The treeling glittered in the moonlight, its branches hung with just about every earring and bracelet that Keelie owned; this was all thanks to her friend Laurie, who had gotten Alora hooked on her own love of sparkly jewels during the trip. In Portland, Keelie and Dad had put Laurie on a train to California, and now she was safe at home in Los Angeles, Keelie’s old home, while Keelie was stuck in the north woods with a potted princess and a lying, cheating, scuzzbag former boyfriend.

She lugged Alora home, tripping over her skirts in the dark. The whole way, Alora complained about the salt content of Keelie’s tears.

Keelie’s head was pounding, and she knew it wasn’t her father at her bedroom door anymore. He’d left the hall outside her door hours ago, tired of trying to coax her out. She hadn’t heard another word since his boots had stomped downstairs.

She was not going out, not to a world where Sean was engaged to marry some redheaded elf witch. She rubbed her burning eyes. Her hopes for a romance with Sean were ruined, although at least Risa was the one who had been humiliated. She wondered what Risa was thinking.

Elia’s presence might not be all bad—at least Keelie
had an ally against the elf witch, which made tolerating her elf frenemy not so excruciating. Of course, from Elia’s point of view it might be different. She had claimed Sean O’ the Woods for herself long ago, and had hated to see him with Keelie.

Sean had been a bright spot in Colorado, a distraction when she’d been overcome with grief after her mother’s death. The best-looking of the handsome jousters at the High Mountain Faire, he was the only one who’d been really nice to her. He’d even kissed her, and when he arrived at the Wildewood Faire in New York, he’d acted as if he were her boyfriend. She’d hoped they could spend time together. Now she had no friends, no social life, and even her so-called boyfriend was gone. He’d lied to her, too, in not telling her about Risa.

Keelie had felt all of her hard-won cool slip away when she saw him with Risa. She was the Tree Shepherd’s daughter—she could work tree magic and Earth magic. She had saved the life of a unicorn and, before that, a sprite, as well as survived a crush on a pirate and the death of her mother. But this betrayal had smashed her flat.

All she’d ever wanted was a regular life and a little happiness. Right now the only thing she had to look forward to was whatever revenge Elia would cook up against Risa. At least it was sure to be entertaining, and definitely better than being the object of the vindictive elf girl’s rage herself.

Sir Davey’s visit would be fun, too. He was coming for the harvest festival in a few weeks, when the elves of
the Dread Forest played nice with their human neighbors in town. She couldn’t wait to see him again. He was the most down-to-earth person that Keelie knew—so to speak. His real name was Jadwyn, and he was an expert in Earth magic. His lessons had helped Keelie deal with her new tree magic.

He was also three feet tall, and liked to dress like one of the Three Musketeers. One of the first magical things she’d noticed at the High Mountain Faire was that the snowy white plume on Sir Davey’s hat seemed to never get dirty, even when she accidentally splattered it with mud. She rubbed the tektite that he’d given her.

The night outside her window was dark, but Keelie was used to it. Away from the cities, and with no streetlights, the faires had been lit only by the moon at night. Tonight’s overcast skies meant what little light they would have had was bouncing off the cloud cover.

Dad was downstairs, worried about her, if he hadn’t gone to bed already. She bit her lip. It wasn’t his fault that Sean was a cheating liar. Her father wanted her to belong, to accept and be accepted by the life she’d been born into—the life her mother had taken her from when Keelie was only two years old.

She sat up, crossed to the carved dresser, and looked at herself in the mirror. Same old self. Curly brown hair, green eyes, and under the curls, one pointed ear, one round ear. At least her eyes weren’t red from crying. Despite the few tears she’d shed, but she was mostly angry.
Why hadn’t Sean told her about Risa earlier? She would have understood. Maybe.

“I need water.” Alora said. The wide window ledge held a willow basket with twisted rope handles, the home of Alora in her clay pot.

“Alora, I watered you this morning. You won’t need more until tomorrow.”

“But I’m thirsty now. I want that bubbly water that Laurie gave me.”

Keelie ignored her. Unlike her conversations with other trees, talking to Alora was almost normal—if you counted Alora’s whining and wheedling, and Keelie’s refusals to give in, as “normal.”

“Just a little drink? My leaves are wilting, see?” The little oak leaves that lined the seedling’s thin branches suddenly drooped. “And they’re getting spotty. I think I’m sick.”

Keelie walked over to the treeling and examined its leaves. She smiled. “Alora, your leaves are changing color because autumn’s not far off. Soon they’ll be bright reds and yellows, and then they’ll fall. By next Spring you’ll have all new leaves. Shiny new green ones.”

The treeling had gone silent, and its little branches were quaking, making the earrings hanging from them bounce and jingle.

“Alora, what’s wrong?”

“I’ll lose my leaves?”

“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.