Gillian Summers: The goblin's curse

“Don’t leave yet. Are you coming to the practice this afternoon?” Sean put an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. He felt strong and safe, and she wished he could come with her to the meadow.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “See you tonight.”

He placed a soft kiss on her rounded human ear, and she felt her other ear blush red all the way to its elven tip.

Mrs. Butters waved as she jumped off the deck and headed toward the meadow. Before Keelie even got to the pony ride area, she saw Raven striding toward her, wearing jeans, soft tall boots, and two layered tank tops, the top one featuring a unicorn head.

“Ready to return to the scene of the crime?” Raven squeezed Keelie’s arm.

“Thanks for doing this.” Keelie didn’t want to admit that she was feeling apprehensive.

Raven waved at the folks still lingering at Mrs. Butters’. Sean was gone, but some of his guys were still finishing their breakfast, joined now by girls who this weekend would probably be dressed up as fairies and princesses.

They went through the gate to the meadow and down the wide, unpaved path. The meadow was dotted with a few trees, and on the far side was the forest where the elven village was located. Keelie had never felt welcome there-even though she’d now mastered the Dread, the elven spell that made humans fearful and back away from the woods, not knowing why they didn’t dare go in. She fingered the rose quartz keychain clipped to her belt loop, then pulled out her extra one and offered it to Raven. “You might need this.”

“Thanks,” Raven said. “Einhorn and I have been talking about adding the Dread to the Wildewood Forest. I’m not sure we need it, but you can understand why he’s a little paranoid about keeping it safe, now that the trees have recovered.”

Keelie quickly briefed Raven on Sir Davey’s Earth magic lesson about how to keep the Dread from overwhelming her by using the rose quartz. It had been a life saver for her, literally.

“When we’re done with the treeling, can we go up the lane to the bridge?” she asked Raven. “I want to see if the water sprite is still there.”

“Sure.” Raven laughed. “You know, I always thought Water Sprite Lane was named that because it sounded medieval, not because there’s a real sprite.”

The sprite had helped Keelie during the Red Cap’s attack, and she recalled her shock when she’d first seen the little creature’s fish-like face. She’d certainly seen stranger things since then… she’d even befriended another sprite back home in the Dread Forest.

Ahead, she saw the tall aspen that spread its branches over the center of the meadow. Keelie ran to him. Hrok, I’m back.

Greetings, Tree Talker. The forest sings of your return.

The tree’s face pushed up through its bark, and Keelie once more saw Hrok’s handsome features. Inexplicable tears choked her. She hugged the tree and kissed his bark-covered cheek. Raven stood nearby, watching. Keelie couldn’t tell if her friend could see the tree’s face. Although Raven’s drop of fae blood allowed her to feel magic, Keelie didn’t think it extended to the tree spirits.

She focused her tree speak so that only Hrok, not the other trees, could hear her. I came to say hi, and to check on… that place. How is the sapling doing? She glanced at a tiny tree that grew between Hrok and a great boulder. No grass grew beneath it, although the rest of the meadow was green. Raven headed toward it.

Greetings, Tree Shepherdess. The treeling does not thrive as we had hoped. The bitterness of the goblin’s blood has tainted its rings. You have changed since you were last here, Keliel Tree Talker. You have grown in power. Hrok seemed pleased.

A shriek split the air, heard only by Keelie and the fae who suddenly abandoned their bushes and hidey-holes to fly into the air-a humming, droning cloud of sticks and buglike creatures. One of the feithid daoine, the bug fairies, tried to dig into her jeans pocket.

Keelie covered her ears and closed her eyes, as if that would help deflect the piercing sound that went on and on. After a moment she opened one eye and tried to find the source of the sound.

Raven was touching the treeling’s leaves and examining its trunk. “This looks like a healthy sapling,” she called back, oblivious to the din.

Keelie could barely hear her. She kept her hands over her ears, becoming accustomed to the brain-melting scream. It seemed to be coming from the little sprout of a tree that Raven was looking at.

Keelie marched up to the sapling, wary of the soil beneath her, although it felt normal. What is your problem? she asked the treeling.

The sound stopped, and the sudden silence was almost a sound as well. Keelie felt the young tree’s confused and angry thoughts, and a pang of guilt went through her. She’d stuck a lifeless branch into what she’d thought was nourishing earth, unaware that the blood that soaked the soil was poisonous and alive with energy. The little twig had revived and grown, but he had sucked up the goblin blood to feed himself.

I’m Keliel, called Tree Talker, and I can help you, she said to him in tree speak. Are you hurt?

No, the treeling shouted. I hate to be ignored. I can remember being powerful, but I’m not powerful now.

That’s because you were once part of the Queen Aspen, she who was central to many of the trees on this mountain. When she died, we had a Tree Lorem for her near here, and one of her branches was given to me. I planted it, and you came to life. You probably share memories with the Queen Aspen. Do you not see me in her memories?

Keelie felt the little tree pout, his anger deepening. “This is one furious tree,” she said aloud.

Raven looked surprised. “Really?” She glanced around at the peaceful meadow. “Everything seems so normal now. What do you plan to do?”

Before Keelie could answer, a roar filled the air. This time Raven could hear it too.

The surrounding trees’ leaves shook in consternation, and Keelie recognized the sound-a motorcycle. Weird. The folks who worked the faire were usually very good about keeping to the medieval theme and not bringing in mundane sounds that would break the faire’s ambiance.

The motorcycle zoomed up from the players’ campground, roared onto the path that crossed the meadow, and zipped past before Keelie could do more than frown. In a second, it had crossed the bridge and disappeared into the woods at the crest of the hill.

“Who was that idiot?” Raven frowned. “If the faire admin catches him, he’ll be toast.”

Keelie didn’t answer. She was busy casting mental feelers around, calming the trees that bordered the meadow. With the Dread firmly in place, they hardly ever saw humans up close. Keelie turned to stare up the hill, at the woods shielding that entrance to the faire. Something about the biker had been a little inhuman, but she didn’t know what. She turned back to the young tree.

I’m going to replant you. Pick any spot in the forest, and I’ll move you there. What do you think of that?

She felt the trees’ disapproval all around her. They didn’t care for the bratty twig, but still, her offer seemed high-handed to them. A person did not ever offer to move a tree-trees were forever. People, even long-lived elves, were just a sneeze in the cosmic nostril.

Keelie remembered how pleased she’d been when the branch she’d jammed into the churned earth had immediately sprouted that leaf. She felt she’d given new life to the Queen Aspen, and then she’d left with her father on her own new path.

She turned to Hrok. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what goblin blood could do when I planted the treeling. I only meant to give you a companion. But our elven charm book may suggest a way for me to counteract the evil effects of the Red Cap’s blood.