Heir of Earth (Forgotten Gods) (6 page)

“OUCH!” I hissed and gripped the back of my head, closing my eyes briefly to wince at the sting. But, the pain was a minor annoyance, easily forgotten. I had better things to look at than the back of my eyelids.

He wore a crisply ironed white shirt rolled up around his elbows, miraculously unwrinkled, despite the fierce battle I had just witnessed. The top half of his shirt hung loosely open over his chest, revealing tiny curls of hair by the unused buttons. He was impeccably groomed. A trait that was glaringly obvious given the hygiene of the men around him who wore clothes stained with sweat and the stench of a hard day’s work.

A flop of mahogany hair parted straight down the middle of his gorgeous head, falling forward in a silky curtain to skim the tops of strong cheekbones and the outermost wisp of wild black eyebrows. It curled in loose waves to the collar of his shirt. Normally, I thought guys with long hair were trying too hard to be cool. But on him? It completed the whole Greek-god thing he had going on.

He certainly didn’t look like the kind of guy who could win an arm wrestling contest with a man who out weighted him by at least 200 pounds. Not that he was wimpy. But he had the lean runner’s body and fine bones of a thoroughbred where his opponent had the bulky muscles of a plow horse. It just didn’t make sense that he had won.

I was more than intrigued, watching as he rubbed the muscles in his forearm, his head turned down to hide a satisfied smile from the crowd who was equally surprised by his victory. They filed past him, one by one, begrudgingly patting him on the back and congratulating him.

“Good job, Dayne,” one man said as if he were being forced at gunpoint to say it.

“Way to go, Dayne,” another said in a deadpan tone.

“Never doubted you, Dayne!” Said the only man who had cheered when he won. He was actually sincere. He was also holding a huge wad of cash.

It was obvious these men weren’t sincere at all as they spoke to him. But what I couldn’t figure out was why they bothered to pretend. This man didn’t belong to the people of Clonlea. Just by the way he stood straight and erect while the crowd scooted like stray dogs around him, you could tell he wasn’t one of them. They knew it, and he knew it, but for some reason they felt obligated to praise him, however obvious their charade was.

He wasn’t bothered by their insincerity, acknowledging each one with a nod of his head, playing along with their game perfectly.

When he reached for his beer his hand brushed against a large set of rusty keys hanging from his belt. The dangling metal created a gentle chime of music that was all but lost in the noisy tavern. But to my ears, it sounded like a symphony. He frowned when he discovered his beer mug was empty. As if by magic, a waitress, about my age, appeared at this side with a full pint.

“Here you go, Dayne. Congratulations. You were amazing.” She was even more enamored with him than I was.

“Oh...ah...thanks. Um, Lisa?” He grimaced a little bit, obviously knowing he was wrong about her name.

“Tara,” she nodded without missing a beat. She stood there folding and unfolding her hands nervously in front of her chest as if she were waiting for a command from him. I was embarrassed for her.

“Right. Thanks, Tara.” He bowed apologetically as he said her name and flashed a brilliant smile that must have made her knees as weak as it did mine. Her eyes went wide, an adoringly dumbstruck look washing over her pretty features. As if she had lost all control, her head wobbled weakly on her shoulders, and she grasped frantically for the support of a nearby chair’s back. Lucky for me, the stone wall was at my back to catch me. His smile was that devastating.

His eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly as he glanced down at her death grip on the chair, certainly suspecting he was the reason for this sudden change in her. An awkwardly silent moment passed between them before he took a big swing from the brimming mug and looked away. Clearly not encouraging the conversation to go further.

The girl slinked away, her eyes never leaving him, as she joined a group of girls that were just standing, staring at this man, watching his every move out of the corner of their eyes while they pretended to laugh and talk with each other.

I chuckled to myself. Kinda pathetic.

“Well, they should know better than to bet against Dayne. He never loses!” My head snapped around as soon as I heard the conversation to my left. They were maybe five feet away from me, but standing in the shadow of the fireplace like I was, I was sure they hadn’t noticed me.

“I’ll bet you Dayne doesn’t leave here tonight without a fight on his hands. Some of those men bet their weeks wages on Burly Hugh to win. Wives will be none too happy about that!” Another member of the group said.

From the safety of my perch along the fireplace I looked back at the man everyone was calling Dayne. It was obvious he didn’t have any friends, just a fan club of women in the tavern tonight. The farmers glared at him over their mugs of beer, angry with him for winning. A few men were beginning to revive Burly Hugh, who was now propped against the table where he had lost, a fresh pint of beer held up to his nose for encouragement.

Why did they dislike him so much? I couldn’t find anything wrong with him. He seemed practically perfect to me. I wanted to tell him to leave, to get out of there before something bad happened to him. I could feel the tension mounting in the room.

He must have felt it too. In one motion he leapt up on his chair, held his pint of beer high in the air above his head, put his fingers to his lips and let out a whistle so loud the entire place screeched to a halt around him. Satisfied he had everyone’s attention, he began.

“Ladies and gentlemen, for all the honest, hardworking people of our beautiful Clonlea, I’d like to propose a toast!” He held his glass high and flashed a brilliant smile at the faces around him.

“If you’re lucky enough to be Irish, you’re lucky enough! Drinks are on me for my fine Irish brothers and sisters tonight! Slainté!” He finished and drained his pint as the place erupted around him.

Shouts and cheers and well wishes rose up from the swell of people that poured toward the bar. They actually sounded sincere this time.

A satisfied smile played on Dayne’s lips as he descended from atop the chair. We were the only ones above the crowd of people— he in the center of the room like a king and me, frozen in the shadows like a lifeless statue.

His eyes scanned the crowd approvingly, and then came to rest on me with a weight that took my breath away.

Hypnotizing green eyes that shimmered like emeralds. Immediately, color faded from the world and we were in a black and white tunnel. Just us.

I’ve seen those eyes before,
 I thought to myself. And just like in my vision weeks before, my body was drawn to him in a way that defied logic...and gravity.

The noisy bar blurred around me. It took every ounce of strength I had to stay on my feet, like the gravitation pull of the earth had been reversed and everything about me was drawn to him instead of terra firma.

My heartbeat sped up in my chest, hammering blood through my veins until I felt they would explode. I could hear nothing but the sound of blood rushing in my ears. The crowd a noiseless riot. My hand reached for the solid stone fireplace at my back. Digging my nails into the rough surface, searching for something to hold on to, fearing I might fall if I broke contact with his gaze.

An easy smile played over his lips and I prayed it was just for me.

Like a Greek God descending from Mount Olympus, he made his way down from the chair, not looking where he was going, only at me. It was no more than a single eternal second, when life danced so dangerously close to perfection all the failings of my past ceased to exist.

In an instant he was gone, swallowed by the crowd, lost in the crush of bodies pouring forward to claim their prize. My knees buckled, as if his eyes had been the only strength holding me up.

I stood frozen for a second, unable to move the dead weight my body had become. Searching the crowd where he had disappeared, I found no trace of him. Only the waitress who had brought him the beer stood there, glaring at me with an icy stare. I realized what I fool I must have looked like, hiding in the shadows of the fireplace like I was. My cheeks caught fire and I quickly climbed down to the sticky tavern floor.

“There you are. We need to get out of here. It’s about to get rowdy,” Rose said as she grabbed my elbow and began dragging me through the crowd, snapping me out of the inexplicable force that held me. “That Dayne!” She complained. “Phin’s gonna be here all night.” I was shocked to hear Rose say his name as I followed her to the door.

She was right. I caught one last glimpse of Dayne as he made his way to the bar in front of the room. He slapped an appreciative Phin on the back as they toasted their big mugs together.

I was thankful for Rose’s careful driving as we arrived at their cottage. It was dark, but I could see the shadows of immaculately kept flowerbeds in front of the cottage, filled with blooming flowers and tiny bushes. Their fragrance greeted me as soon as I stepped from the truck. When we reached the front gate a fat cat meowed from the bushes, stretching as he crawled out into the porch light like we’d woken him.

“Cinder, say hello to Faye,” Rose said to the cat that was already rubbing against my ankles as I pulled my oversized suitcase along behind me. “Oh, she likes you!”

“Really? I’ve never really been a cat person,” I said, a little unsure of what the gesture meant in cat language.

Rose flung open the door and stepped aside, allowing me to go in first.

“Home sweet home,” she beamed in the overhead light that flared to life as I took it all in. The wide front porch ran the width of the house. A large, open room in front held the kitchen, dining room and den all mingled together. A doorway along the back wall started the hallway that led to Rose and Phin’s room, and a little staircase made its way to the second level at the far end of the den area.

“Oh, Rose, its great.” It was cozy and welcoming after such a long day. A homemade quilt rested over the back of the couch facing a tiny fireplace where old embers glowed on the hearth. The Irish summer was much colder and wetter than what I was used to. I could already tell that would be my favorite spot in the house. Rose’s quaint little kitchen filled one corner, a well-worn table separating it from the other areas. The smell of baking bread hung heavily in the air.

Rose was happy to hear of my approval. She had been to my house many times. It was a great house, but it certainly didn’t have the personality and warmth of hers. My mother’s taste for antiques and artwork made it feel more like a museum than a home.

“Okay! Let’s get you settled. Work starts tomorrow. That is, if Phin gets home at a reasonable hour. Sometimes that man!” She frowned as she grabbed my bag and began up the narrow little staircase, waving for me to follow.

“This is your bathroom.” Rose pointed to a small room on the right and leaned in to turn on a light. I was relieved to see I wasn’t sharing a bathroom. I loved Phin, but I was pretty sure he was the kind of person who left the cap off of the toothpaste and forgot to put the toilet seat down.

“This room is all of Phin’s old riding stuff. No need to really go in there.” She waved dismissively at the next door we passed.

“And here you are!” She opened a door at the end of the hallway, switched on the light and stepped to the side so I could walk in.

“Rose! Did you do all this for me?” I asked in amazement. The little room was as warm and cozy as the downstairs. A little fireplace sat in the corner, a huge bouquet of fresh flowers centered on the mantle, their strong fragrance mimicking the garden outside. On the bed, a green bedspread and white pillows with my initials, “MFK”, embroidered in the same color green matched a tiny stripe in the wallpaper exactly.

I walked around the little room, unable to believe how much it already felt like my own. On the bedside table sat a framed picture of me with Rose and Phin at a Braves game last summer. It was easily the best day of their trip. The fact that they obviously cherished the memory as much as I did made my chin quiver in that uncontrollable way that means tears are inevitable. I picked it up and sat down on the bed holding it tightly between my hands. Tears pooled on my lower lids. I looked up at Rose, who stood across the room, holding her breath as she watched my reaction. The tears rolled down my cheeks and Rose instantly rushed to my side, eyes wide with concern.

“I am so sorry! Is it too much? Oh, I didn’t mean to upset you!” Rose fretted as she gathered me in her arms.

“Oh, no Rose. I...I love this, but you guys already did so much,” I said, looking around me at the cozy little room and thinking about how far away I was from my life back home. Ever since my visions started and my life had gone so horribly wrong, I had felt like a necessary nuisance to my parents. I wasn’t their perfect little girl anymore, and even though they tried to hide their disappointment I still felt like a stranger in our house sometimes.

Sitting in my new room, I knew how excited Rose and Phin were to have me in their home, and that was something I hadn’t felt in years. On a chair sat a neatly folded pile of clothes wrapped in green ribbon. The brown suede stitched on stretchy canary fabric breeches, the tall leather shafts of shiny new riding boots, and the soft black velvet of a riding helmet were a huge “welcome home” surprise. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth when I remembered exactly how much potential this summer had.

“Rose, you shouldn’t have done all this. I didn’t want you guys to go to any trouble. You already bought my plane ticket.” I felt guilty for the effort and money they obviously spent preparing for my arrival. I felt even more guilt for regretting my decision to come hours earlier on the plane.

“Oh, nonsense. We enjoyed it. You see, Phin and I? Well, God never decided to bless us with a child. We’ve never had anyone to dote on like this. When we bought this little house years ago, we always thought this would be our child’s room one day. Over the years it just became a storage room. You wouldn’t believe the fun we have had getting it ready for you. Even Phin got in the spirit. He said you would need some real riding clothes to ride real Irish horses.” She pointed to the ribbon-wrapped gift on the chair.

“Rose, this is just beyond anything I could have…” Words failed me. I was too exhausted to even think about the emotions playing in my heart.

As if sensing my emotional overload, Rose stood up and smoothed my hair.

“Why don’t you go take a nice hot shower? I’ll go get some tea brewing and we can a have a nice cup before we go to bed. Probably a little girl talk, too. I’m sure Phin will be a while.” She frowned at this last part before walking out of the room. The stairs creak with her descent.

I showered and pulled on my favorite blue pajamas. Sitting down in front of the mirror, I pulled a comb through the tangles of wet hair around my shoulders. At night, when no one was around, was the only time I dared to let my hair flow freely around me. It was a little bit of happiness I kept for myself. Of course my hair had grown back after freshman year, but I didn’t dare let the world see it anymore. The butterscotch curls looped down to my waist just as they had before my
frenemies’
anger sheared them to the scalp. At the time, I had told myself I was being brave, continuing to the gym when I knew what waited for me there. Now? I knew I was a coward because I had refused to fight for my life, choosing to let it slip through my fingers. Taking the easy way out by fading into obscurity.

I reached for the rubber band I always kept on my wrist to restrain the wad of hair, a well practiced routine of my life, but stopped before the elastic left my hand. Looking in the mirror, I realized how much I loved my hair. I snorted slightly, punching my chin up in the air, and tossed the rubber band into my toiletry bag. My fingers trailed through the golden waves, pulling the mass of curls over my shoulder. I didn’t want to hide it anymore.

Rose was busy at the stove when I made my way down the staircase and crossed through the den and dining areas to the kitchen on the far side.

“What’s all this?” I asked, running my fingers over the countless little rows of glass bottles that filled an ancient wooden shelf along the far wall. Below the shelf was an older wooden table scattered with the tools of a well-equipped science lab.

“Those are my herbs, dear,” Rose answered, a hint of pride in her voice. The tinkle of china floated across the room as Rose carried the heavy serving tray, carefully watching every wiggle of every piece, striding purposefully to the table.

The kettle on the stove let out a loud cry and Rose hurried back to rescue it. I was still looking at all the little bottles. The labels were hard to read, scrawled in Rose’s often illegible handwriting. Hundreds of little glass jars glinted in the overhead light, tightly corked with little stoppers, keeping the contents protected.

Huh,
 I thought. I didn’t know that about Rose.

I walked over to the table and sat down cross-legged in the chair facing Rose’s kitchen. She turned away from the stove, kettle in hand, and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw me.

“What?” I asked, rubbing a hand over my face and hair, sure there was a smear of lotion I hadn’t rubbed in or something else on me.

“Faye, that hair of yours is something else. You look like a different person with that mane of yours flowing down around you. Why do you keep it hidden away all the time?” She put the teapot down on a trivet after she poured some of the scalding water over a nest of dark leaves.

I blushed at her compliment and immediately grabbed my hair and twisted in into a long tail that ran along my neck and chest. Out of sheer habit I reached for the rubber band to tie it back. Rose gently touched the back of my hand and guided it down to the table.

“There’s no need for you to hide who you are here, Faye.” Her smile said it all. She knew better than anyone how difficult my high school years had been.

I rearranged and hugged my knees in close to my chest, resting my heels on the edge of the seat. Rose took the chair opposite me and turned on the little radio sitting on a nearby shelf. The gentle lilting tunes of new age Celtic music flowed around us.

“Here,” Rose said, placing a steaming teacup in front of me. “Be careful, it’s really hot.” She warned, wrapping a cloth napkin around the mug so I could hold it without getting burned. I nodded my head and leaned over to blow on the hot liquid. “It’s my own special blend.” A smile tugged at one corner of her lip.

“Special blend?” I asked.

“It’s a blend of chamomile with some valerian in there to help you sleep tonight.” She answered as I sniffed the hot cup with a suspiciously crinkled nose. “Oh, stop that!” Rose said in a good-natured way. “I’m known for my herbal cures. People come to me when the doctors and their modern medicine can’t fix ‘em!” Rose said pointing to the collection of little bottles I had perused earlier. “I’ve the best collection and the best knowledge of these herbs in the whole of the countryside!” I could tell she wasn’t used to being doubted when it came to her medicinal skills.

“Ok, I believe you! I’ll try it,” I said, throwing my hand up in a fake defense. I blew on the cup to cool the hot liquid and then took a tentative sip. The warm liquid tasted divine— just like honeysuckle smells —and warmed me down to my belly. “That’s not so bad,” I said, a bit surprised. Rose nodded her head in a knowing way.

“That’s local honey in there. Sweetest honey around. Same honey I use for my famous bread.” She took a sip from her cup and set it quickly down on the table. “Oh! That reminds me, I almost forgot with all the excitement of your arrival. That would never do.” Rose jumped up from the table and went to the cupboard in the corner. She came back in a second carrying a plate laden with thick slices of her famous Honeyed Sweet Bread. I smiled at its arrival, excited to tasted it fresh from Rose’s kitchen, and sat forward in my seat, ready to grab a piece as soon as it hit the table. Rose walked right past me and went to the front door. Where she disappeared for a moment, only to return empty handed.

“Rose, you’re giving your bread to the cat?” I was shocked that a cat could be worthy of such a treat.

“No, no. Not for the cat. For the Sidhe,” she said, wiping her hands and joining me at the table

“Sidhe?” I repeated, shaking my head, clearly not following where she was going.

“The
good people
,” she tried again.

“Rose, I don’t have a clue what you are talking about,” I said, eyeing her suspiciously, thinking maybe Rose was losing it.

Rose took a pad and pencil from the drawer beside her and scribbled something on it very quickly and passed it to me.

“
The Fairies!!
” Was scribbled across the paper in dark, underlined letters.

“Oh my gosh. Are you serious? You must be joking, Rose.” I shook my head, narrowed my eyes and pushed the pad back her way.

“No, we don’t say that word out loud. They don’t like it.” She took the pencil and scratched out the words, like they might be able to read it too. “They prefer good people, or fair folk, even Sidhe is better than the F-word,” she said in stone-faced seriousness. It was hard to keep a straight face when Rose mention such vulgarities in her sweet, lilting tone. Clearly the
F-word
was different in Ireland.