The Gazing Globe (8 page)

Keeping evil at bay will be more difficult since we're on ground which isn't sacred to us. Let Blain rest alone. When he awakens, he'll find his world greatly changed."

"As you command,"Aftonreluctantly agreed as she turned and glanced once more at her patient.

***

When Blain awoke, he felt much better, but he was tired to the bone. He knew whatever was happening to him physically wasn't going to stop, and it frightened him more than ever before. As ill as he'd been, nothing in his life had ever caused him to pass out. He looked around the bedroom. It was afternoon. He could tell by the setting sun. But his clock had been moved from the night stand, so he had no way of knowing the exact time.

He carefully sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. So far, so good. The only thing he felt besides the debilitating weariness was extreme hunger. Surely that was a good sign. Sick people didn't want to eat much, did they? He moved to the closet, pulled on some jeans and one of his work shirts. His boots took a bit more time as he had to fuss with the laces and rest a bit. Why was he so damned tired? And where was everyone? He was certainAftonhad been in the room with him earlier. He couldn't have imagined her soft voice or her hands on his body.

"Ah, you're awake." Hugh smiled as he poked his head around the door.

"How long was I out?" Blain looked at his uncle and tried to stand. When he wobbled, the older man rushed to help him.

"You've been resting for almost three days now. Afton came in earlier and gave you a bit of broth, but I don't suppose you'd remember. You've been quite exhausted, lad."

"I've been out of it for three days? That's not possible!"

"Possible or not, that's how long it's been."

Blain shook his head, let out a long sigh and clenched his hands. "Help me downstairs, will you?"

"Are you sure that's a good idea? You're still unsteady on your feet."

"I think I might feel better once I get some food in me. I'm so hungry I could eat everything in the house."

"Good. That's a healthy sign. I'll help you, but you must take the trip downstairs verra' slow. If you pass out again, none of us is big enough to get you back upstairs, even if we combine our efforts."

"I'm surprised you didn't call an ambulance. Maybe you should have. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before."

"If you don't feel better after the wonderful mealAftonis preparing, then I promise we'll get you to a doctor, lad."

Blain used his uncle's strong shoulder for support, and they made their way downstairs. As soon as he was halfway to the first floor, his nose twitched at a tempting smell emanating from the kitchen. The aroma already had him feeling better. It seemed to energize him.

As they came down the last few steps, Shayla rose from a living room chair, positioned herself on Blain's other side, and helped support him as they walked into the kitchen.

"You're a winning lad, Blain McTavish. Make no mistake about it." Shayla patted Blain's shoulder as he lowered himself into a kitchen chair.

"I hope that was a compliment," Blain said, as he accepted a glass of ice water from Hugh.

"It was." Shayla smiled at him and pushed back his unruly hair.

"Thanks." Blain paused to drain the entire glass of water. "I'm sorry to have been so much trouble to everyone. Man, I'm hungry!"

"You've been no trouble at all, lad," Hugh said. "We're all glad to see you up and about again. And speaking of being hungry, where'sAfton? I'm a wee bit empty myself."

"She's gathering herbs to mix with the soup. You like vegetable soup, don't you Blain?" Shayla turned to Blain, handing him some more water.

Blain wondered why they were making so much fuss over the food when somebody could just feed him "I feel as though I'm starving, and soup is one of my favorite things to eat when I'm really hungry," he responded.

The back door opened and everyone turned asAftonwalked in. She was carrying a small basket in one hand and a pair of herb scissors in the other. She stopped to place them on the kitchen counter before walking to where Blain sat.

"I'm glad you're up. How do you feel?" She looked down at him, restraining the urge to hug him hard.

"Better. Thank you for sitting with me. I don't know how long you stayed, but I know you were there quite a while." All the attention made him feel both guilty over their concern and wonderful that they cared.

"You're not quite steady yet, but you will be after a bowl or two of my soup I don't like to brag, but you've never tasted anything like it. It'll have you back on your feet in no time.

You must eat every drop."

She smiled at Blain again, and he thought someone should try to bottle her warmth. It would go a long way toward curing more than just illness. She briefly covered his hand with hers then left to set the table for supper.

It was all he could do to keep from grabbing the basket of homemade bread she placed in front of him.

The aroma was so tantalizing his stomach was turning flips. When Shayla placed a steaming bowl of the soup before him, he wasted no time diving in. Fears about his health fled as he slaked his appetite. The others seemed to enjoy the meal, but Blain swore he'd never tasted anything so good in his entire life.

There was something about the soup that filled every part of him with warmth. He reacted to the food as if it were a drug, and he wanted more.

"Another bowl?" Hugh asked, as he rose to fill his own again.

Blain nodded and smiled his thanks as he reached for his third piece of bread. "You were right. I actually feel like part of the human race again.Afton, you're a wonderful cook."

Aftonrewarded him with a brilliant smile and pushed more bread and butter toward him. As Blain continued his meal, she studied him. His remark about being part of the human race couldn't have been more wrong. While Druids were human, fairies were not. They were ethereal creatures whose existence depended upon nature. If something about Blain was attracting an evil presence, there was more to him than a human aura. What was it that this foul presence wanted from him?

Since she knew that only time would give them the answer, she listened as Hugh told Blain how he'd tended the farm animals with help from Shayla and her.

Blain was ashamed of the weakness which had caused him to stay in bed for so long. Whatever had been wrong was rapidly vanishing. With each moment that passed, he felt stronger. Doubts about his health seemed to fly away. Again, the attention made his chest tighten with warm emotion. It just felt plain good. He didn't want it to end.

"I don't suppose anyone wants the last of that soup?" Blain raised his eyebrows and looked around the table.

Everyone laughed andAftonrose to fill Blain's bowl with the special brew. The soup he had eaten had been filled with some of her best herbal remedies. While it was no more than healthy fare for the rest of them, Blain had badly needed its curative ingredients. His color and humor had already greatly improved.

After supper,Aftonwaited for a signaling nod from Shayla and Hugh. When it came, she took a deep breath before saying, "Blain, why don't you go out onto the back porch. I think there's something you should see."

Blain looked at her curiously, then rose to do as she'd asked. He walked out onto the porch and gasped in surprise. His mother's herb garden had been landscaped according to her final plans. Every last plant, arbor and stepping stone was in place. Fresh plants had been carefully planted among the old ones to complete the designs she'd drawn. Everything was as she'd imagined it. But for his father's death, his mother would have completed this lovely garden herself. Her heart had simply not been in the project after her husband died

Shayla spoke very quietly. "Please say you like it. Your uncle,Aftonand I did everything we could to make this place exactly right. We stayed up all night digging and made dozens of phone calls during the day to get just the right plants Every stone has been placed by hand and the paths have all been dug to last The borders have been aligned down to the last inch as the diagram specified. Because of our efforts, this garden will be here forever. And this was what we wanted. A monument to your parents. We worked very hard. Tell us it was worth it, Blain."

Even after her heartfelt explanation, Blain could only utter, "It's the most amazingly beautiful place I've ever seen. There's magic here. I wish mother could have seen it."

Blain looked around in wonder and began to slowly walk down one of the paths. His strength increased with each step. Occasionally, he bent to inspect an herb. Smell, color, texture and design were all perfectly balanced. Soft ferns mixed with baby's breath. Purple, frilly-flowered ageratum bordered the beds. Oxalis, or ornamental clover as it was commonly called, bloomed in pots, and hanging baskets of variegated ivy hung from low branches of oak trees. A wind chime tinkled in the evening breeze, and benches invited a weary soul to rest. Blain could almost hear his parents' laughter. How they would have loved this special place.

Then, something caught his attention and lured him to the center of the garden. Within a round bed of yarrow stood a wrought-iron pedestal. Ornate, metal vines curved around the base and up to form a well. Within the well rested a striking, silver globe. The globe was more than a foot in diameter and reflected the surroundings with an unearthly quality.

He tilted his head slightly and gazed deep into its depths. The gleaming, setting sun reflected off the brilliant surface. It was the most enchanting piece of artwork he'd ever seen. The thing had a mesmerizing allure, and it captivated him. Then he remembered the last time he'd run nude in the forest. He recalled viewing the moon in the same way as he was now seeing it. That's where the memory had come from.

Long ago, his parents must have described this type of garden art to him, and he was only now piecing the memory together. On the night when he'd been running, the moon had looked like a giant gazing globe.

From somewhere deep inside his being, haunting images of another life flooded his thoughts. In this other place, forest beings of legend and myth dwelled. They gracefully drifted among the plants and beckoned him to come. Oh, how wonderful it would be to go to that fantasy place! It was soft and safe there.

"Though it wasn't in her plans, is something your mother would have eventually put here. I knew her well, and she would have loved it," Shayla quietly explained as she walked up behind him.

Blain heard her, but her voice didn't break the spell of the moment. Rather, it added to it. It was as if her voice was a part of the world he dreamed.

"Legend has it that its reflective surface could turn away evil spirits. Anyone practicing black magic can't tolerate seeing their reflection in it." Shayla paused before continuing. "We thought it might bring you peace and renew your strength to walk here. Your illness isn't of the body, Blain. It's of the spirit. The only way to combat such an affliction is to renew your strength from Mother Earth herself. If you close your eyes and let yourself feel, you'll know what I say is true."

Blain closed his eyes and felt his every care drift away. The cool night breeze stirred branches of the nearby oaks. An owl hooted from its roost. Something inside him yearned to be free, but he couldn't put a name to that feeling. All he knew was that this strange pull seemed older than time, and his senses became more attuned to everything. He could smell every herb and flower in the garden and knew their names. As the sun dropped lower, the yearning grew. Nothing about the desire was painful. It was just there. He wanted to be alone here and to be one with nature.

"Are you all right?" Shayla asked.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for this," he said, waving a hand to encompass the garden. "All of you must have worked very hard. I don't know that my gratitude will ever be enough, but you have it all the same."

"If you enjoy the garden, that's thanks enough," Shayla said as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Now, rest here awhile. You'll have no more problems with your health. I promise you."

He heard her and the others walk away and believed what she said was true. Shayla Gallagher was an odd woman, but he thought her heart might be as big as the globe into which he gazed. She was right about feeling at peace.

He walked closer to the globe and saw the first of the evening stars glimmer on its lustrous surface. His own reflection, however, seemed dim and far away. As though he needed to be closer. In his mind, Blain interpreted that to mean closer to nature, and not necessarily the globe itself.

He recognized that thought as being strange. It was more of an impression, really. And no matter what else he believed or what his mind conjured up, his heart felt calm, and he smiled. It was as if his parents were here again He could almost feel the joy they shared at being together. He wondered if he'd ever share that same emotion with someone.

Suddenly, a memory pushed itself into his mind. He turned and ran into the house, up the stairs and into his room. At the foot of his bed was an old trunk. He hadn't opened it since his mother died. He quickly rummaged through the contents until he found what he wanted. Then he rose and made his way back downstairs and into the garden.

The lights in the house were all off. He assumed everyone needed their sleep after sitting up with him for hours and working so hard to landscape the garden. In the garden, Blain found a stone bench to sit upon. He could see the moon above and its glowing reflection shimmered on. He waited. As time drifted by, there was no sensation of its passing. He'd never felt so extraordinarily alive in his entire life.

He looked at the object in his hands. His father had carved it from a piece of old wood and given it to him when he was about five years old. His mother had taught him to play it. Though he wasn't sure he could do the music justice anymore, he raised the flute to his lips, closed his eyes and played.

Inside the house,Aftonheard the sweetest music that had ever been created. She went to the window to see where it was coming from. The musician was Blain. The flute he played was a common instrument among the fey. Some of the fairy race were known to gift their newborns with all kinds of musical instruments the children would later learn to master. Except no fairy of her acquaintance had ever played in such an exquisite way. The vibrato was pure and clear, and she could feel its power pull her to him.