Healing Hands (The Queen of the Night series Book 2) (18 page)

“Evan,” I started, “something happened the night you were stabbed. Corey said something…”

He shook his head vigorously. “Don’t talk about that here.” 

I understood. Arianrhod’s spies were everywhere. They might even be here, in the sacred temple. “Okay.”

“Later,” he said. We went back to staring at the grass silently. I hated this strain between us. I wanted to be best friends again, but I didn’t know why he was pulling away. It was an uncomfortably long silence.

Eventually, Buach walked through the archway. He staggered a little, as if he was drunk.
Do fairies get drunk?
He definitely seemed dazed and didn’t even bother to pretend umbrage at being summoned with the spell we’d cast. “Ach, Fiona, love,” he called out.

“No Buach, it’s Maggie,” I corrected. He’d confused me with my great-aunt more than once. Why did he do that?  He looked at me and his eyes came back into focus.

“Maggie, why have you summoned me here?” 
Great
, I thought,
now he takes umbrage
.

Evan interceded. “Buach, can you tell us what this is?”  He showed the bundle of twigs to the Sidhe. Buach took it and scrutinized the bundle.

“Ah, this be a bundle of magic kindling. I gave it to the Running Deer family many, many years ago.”

“What exactly is it?”  I asked him.

“It is a collection: one twig from each of the seven sacred trees of North America, blessed by me. Look,” he pointed to each twig in turn, “Hickory, Maple, Locust, Beech, Sycamore, Ash, and Oak.”

“What does it do?” Evan queried.

“It is used to light the fire at the monthly moon celebrations. It will kindle the bonfire but will itself never burn, so it can be used forever.”

“Oh,” I commented, confused. I wasn’t sure why Margaret had thought it so important that I needed this artifact, but then Buach smiled.

“But I’m guessing, lassie, your grandmother wanted you to have it for a more contemporary reason.”  He carefully peeled back the frayed and decayed burlap and untied the rope binding the sticks together. As he loosened the bundle, something fell out and landed in the grass. Evan bent down to retrieve it. Buach retied the sticks.

Evan held up the fallen object. His face was a mirror of my own. It was a combination of confusion, wonder and hope. We both stared at them: a set of car keys. He dropped them in my outstretched hand.

***

As he was driving me home he said, “You know, you’ll have to see him tonight.”

“Whom will I have to see?”  I looked at him sideways.

He didn’t glance at me. He didn’t answer either. His mouth was set in a grim line.

I nodded my head and leaned back. “Steve. Why?”

“Tonight is the eve of the vernal equinox. Everyone will attend the Poet’s Play.”

“What’s the Poet’s Play?”

“At the start of the planting season, when animals give birth, and all life is renewed, the Poets of the clan reenact our history. The whole clan will expect you to go.”

“Oh,” I’d been so busy, I wasn’t sure if Rose had mentioned the event or not. I didn’t keep track of the changes of the seasons like people did here.

He took a deep breath. “Can I sit with you at the play?  I don’t want you to have to face him alone.”

I don’t know why he felt the need to ask. “I’d feel better if you were close by.”

“Good.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Poet’s Play

“Welcome to this year’s Poet’s Play. Relax, sit back and enjoy the story.”  Judge Paul Sinclair, local Magistrate for the Morgan County Court, kicked off the annual presentation at midnight. An ingenious, raised platform had been constructed out of wood and fitted in pieces around the stone altar in the center of the sacred meadow. The platform made the altar stand at chair height instead of at table height, so Paul used it as a seat. The wireless public address system was working great so he could be heard all over the clearing. Families sat on the ground in clusters. Most brought blankets and tarps. A few brought air mattresses and sleeping bags for the young children.

Corey and I had been warned the play would continue until sunrise, when Llew and Arianrhod would acknowledge each other as equals at the moment of the vernal equinox. I’d missed the autumnal equinox celebration, Mabon, because I’d returned to California. Torches had been placed next to each of the standing stones around the double circle. The audience was spread out across both rings so the performers, consisting of members of the Sinclair and Bruce families, had to stand sideways to address everyone. Short torches ringed the raised platform to illuminate the performance. No fairy lights hung in the air tonight, leading me to assume this function would not be attended by the Sidhe.

Our group, MacDougall’s and McMahon’s sat on the Sidhe portal side of the meadow. Fiona and Duncan sat together in low-profile folding chairs, as crawling on the ground was more difficult at their age. The rest of us had seat and backrest pads so we would be more comfortable. Duncan’s second oldest son, Ken, was the only married one of the four. He and his wife, Diana McCormack McMahon, had a toddler and an infant, who played on the blanket in front of us. Evan had been true to his word; he sat next to me, unnecessarily, as it turned out.

Steve McCoy entered the clearing, took one look at our family’s cluster and headed off to sit on the other side of the meadow. I gasped when I saw the damage done. His black and blue face had a heavily bandaged nose splint and he walked with a slight limp. Wordlessly, I turned to look at Evan with wide eyes.

“I feel no sympathy for him, neither should you,” he said crisply about the matter.

I tuned into the history lesson being told by alternating performers on the stage.

“By 1850, soft coal mining production was in full force in six states, major canals and turnpikes had been constructed to create a transportation network of shallow waterways. Steamboats clogged the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers. Railroad production had increased by an order of magnitude over the previous decade. The telegraph network had been established in every state east of the Mississippi River. A stable refining process was being discovered that would render steel production both cost-effective and of high quality.

The great Sidhe oracle, Dariene, could foresee the urbanization of the eastern seaboard, the western expansion and the impending Civil War. She knew what these things would mean to our country. The great Roman society had already thrown off the balance between genders. They had created a class structure promoting strife, poverty and unrest. Now the United States adopted similar rules of democracy, which although helpful to the non-magical humans, threatened to unbalance the natural order with its free-market economy and endless consumption of natural resources. The oracle shared her visions and fears with the deities.

When the big factories were built and started spewing toxic, black smoke into the sky the gods worried about what would happen to both the balance of the seasons and to the balance between night and day.

The magical peoples of the Scottish Mount in North Carolina were already well integrated with the Cherokee Nation. Llew and Arianrhod visited them and asked for their help to protect the natural order. Their clan leaders agreed.

They sent a group north in search of the sacred Temple of the Crossed Rings. Dariene prophesized the temple would be located close to the capital of the non-magical government near the nexus of two great rivers. This group became the first settlers of the Cacapon clan.” 

The play had reached an intermission. The performers took a much needed break and most of the people in the audience started rummaging in picnic baskets and backpacks for food. Diana nursed the baby under a blanket and the toddler had long since fallen asleep. So had Corey, he snored next to my feet. Evan had stretched out on his side and I lay at a right angle to him, with my upper torso propped up against his stomach. As I rolled over to face him, my hand instinctively came up to balance myself against his middle. I could feel the welt of the knife wound under his shirt. It was going to leave a scar which would stay with him for the rest of his life.

I traced it with my finger, thinking of my overwhelming fear when I believed he might die. My emotional scar from the wound would stay with me for the rest of my life, too. I looked to his face.

He stared back with raised eyebrows.

Immediately, I withdrew my finger.

“You’re lucky I’m not ticklish,” he said so low only I could hear him.

“Sorry.”

He rolled onto his back and looked at the stars. “It’s okay,” he replied, “I was scared that night, too.”

I pushed myself up and sat cross-legged next to him with my hands firmly locked on my lap. I had to stop touching him all the time. It was bad for both of our equilibriums.

“Hey, Maggie,” Pat called from across the blanket.

“Hmmm,” I queried.

“We figured out the story on those keys.”

My head snapped up, hopefully; he’d gotten my attention.

Duncan chimed in on the conversation. “Yeah, I’d forgotten all about it.”

“Well, tell me.” I said impatiently. The keys said FORD on them, I’d already guessed they went to a car. The questions remaining: which car and where was it parked?

“We found it in the barn over on the other side of the condemned house. It looks like it’s in pretty good shape. Of course, no one’s driven it for nineteen years, so it’ll need work.”  I held my breath with anticipation. “But I think it would make a good first car, for someone just learning to drive. What do you think, Fiona?”

“Oh yes,” she said nonchalantly, “I agree. It’s small.”

“True,” Duncan nodded, “but it gets great gas mileage, and besides, how much car does Maggie need?” 

I squealed. They’d said it. I was going to get a car.

“Of course, she’ll have to learn to drive stick,” said Fiona.

I gulped.

Evan laughed at me. “I can teach you,” he said.

“No, you cannot,” snapped Rose. “You’re not eighteen yet. Pat will teach her. I will not tolerate any more underage driving.”

“What does it look like?”  I asked longingly.

Pat answered, “It’s a little white Ford Festiva. It’s kinda boxy, with four seats and a hatch. It’s so small I can roll down the passenger window from the driver’s seat without leaning over.”

“As I recall,” said Duncan, “those cars got forty-six miles to the gallon. That’s why Margaret bought it. She always did her part to conserve energy.”

“Geez Evan,” Corey said from my feet. He’d obviously woken up at the mention of having another car in the family. “I think we’ve found something that makes her more breathless than you.” 

I tried to smack him, but he moved out of reach. Everyone laughed except for Evan and me.

Corey continued, “How’d it end up in some barn for nineteen years?”

Duncan answered, “As far as we can figure, she’d gone out to that cave of theirs to pray to her ancestors, or something, and passed away while she meditated. She had stage-four cancer by then. The doctor who did the autopsy didn’t think she’d suffered much.” 

I’d seen my mom’s last day. Without any pain killers, Margaret probably suffered a lot. She’d felt compelled to go to the cave, anyway.

“She probably parked in the barn and walked to the cave. When your grandpa Ewan found her body, he was distraught.”

Fiona nodded, “…inconsolable…”

Duncan finished, “and I’m sure no one thought about the car. Since Ewan died two months later, we forgot about it. The keys stayed there on the ground.” 

I disagreed. The keys had been carefully tucked inside the bundle of twigs and placed against the back wall. That required planning. I wondered if a Seer had told Margaret to do it knowing I would find them nineteen years later. She had said the ancestors had waited for me for a long time.
Does this tie into a greater plan I do not yet understand
? The thought made me shudder.

Fiona said kindly, “I’m sure she would have wanted her namesake to inherit the car, so it’s yours.” 

“Yay!”  The purpose of the gift was irrelevant right now. I had a car.

***

After the intermission, the play resumed. Paul Sinclair continued his role as narrator.

“So the great families of the Cacapon clan moved up here and have prospered. We have Macgregor’s,” a huge shout went up from the enormous Macgregor cluster, “and McGee’s,” another shout from a different part of the clearing resounded, “McMahon’s,” we cheered, “and McFadden’s, Wallace’s, Brown’s, McCormack’s, and McCoy’s,” he continued. Paul called out each of the names of the families in the clan, and each time the family members cheered. When he called out the McLeod’s I noticed Madison didn’t sit with her family and it struck me as odd. Evan cheered for Keach’s, Stewart’s and McMahon’s. I liked how he’d adopted himself as part of our extended family. Paul ended with a call for MacDougall’s and we all cheered loudly.

Then he grew somber. “And of course we’ve lost a few fine family lines along the way. We miss the McGuire’s,” they had been another prominent Healer family. “And we miss the Miller’s, the Running Deer’s and the Algoma’s.”  He mentioned a couple of others and I realized the extent of Arianrhod’s pruning over the decades. We had a moment of silence for the ones who had been lost, and they started the longest part of the play. The Bruce’s and Sinclair’s started to recount anecdotes from seven generations of clan members. People got up and walked around as necessary. As always at these outdoor clan events, portable toilets had been provided in the parking lot. I listened to several of the stories, because they were all new to me, and I daydreamed a bit. I might have fallen asleep on Evan’s shoulder at one point. I know he fell asleep with his head on my lap somewhere around the time of the Great Depression. The whole time, I kept an ear open for any mention of the names I’d written on my family tree.

As the sky began to lighten, the stories became more contemporary. They told the same story Steve had told me about the AMC Pacer on the roof of the high school, and Evan grunted.

“What is it?” I asked him.

He whispered in my ear. “Steve wasn’t even there. Liam McFadden, two Wallace boys, Kyle Dawkins and I got that car on the roof of the school. Jerk.”

The performers recounted the story of the hunt for the Druid’s Egg, which had saved my sanity last summer. Steve’s role in that adventure had been embellished also. I was glad I didn’t have to spend time with him anymore. The last story they told described how Evan and I had discovered an illegal strip mine dumping radioactive water into a little stream called Warm Spring Run. I smiled at the memory of how we saved the water nymph, Easnadh, and the little girl, Zoe Brown. She waved at me from across the meadow. Everyone clapped when the play ended. Then something remarkable happened.

An amethyst-colored glow appeared in the arch opposite from where we sat. The ethereal light grew and seeped out from under the arch. It formed a growing cloud of airy multi-colored fabric floating on a breeze. The light purple changed to a light blue, a medium blue, and a midnight blue dotted with sequins like far off stars on a clear night. The colored stripes undulated like dozens of silk petticoats, with the midnight blue being the sequined velvet dress on top. The colored clouds squeezed through the narrow opening of the arch, followed by a belt made of diamonds and a ruffled bodice of deep violet. Two arms and a ruffled neck poked through the portal. The last part of the goddess to emerge was her head. Her glittering silver skin shone on her heart-shaped and fine-boned face. Her eyes were the same deep violet as mine. With a pop, her flowing long, wavy locks of navy blue hair topped with an intricate silver filigree tiara slid through the portal. Arianrhod had joined the party. She flew over the meadow until she floated directly over the Sidhe arch, about twenty feet in the air. Her skirt flowed nearly thirty feet across. She didn’t talk. Like us, she waited.

A yellow glow appeared under the arch. A full head of long, platinum hair popped through the archway. The hair framed a golden-skinned face with a finely chiseled bone structure. A strong jaw, thin lips, aquiline nose and piercing amber eyes made up the components of the intimidating and awe-inspiring face of a god. Turning sideways, the King of the Sun pushed broad shoulders through the opening. Placing strong arms on the two standing stones which held up the transom, he pushed against them to squeeze his bare, heavily muscled torso into the clearing. His hips and thighs were covered with a traditional Scottish kilt, or maybe it was a Roman centurion’s lorica segmentata, or another skirt-like piece of apparel. It glowed with fire, so it was hard to see the detail. As with Arianrhod, I wasn’t sure if he had feet. Her dress covered up everything below the waist and his legs were engulfed in a cloud of flame. The last part of his body to emerge was the most impressive. Because he folded a pair of huge, glorious feathered wings behind his back. Once he had emerged through the portal intact, he spread them open. He had a wingspan of perhaps sixteen feet. Licking flames surrounded his whole body ranging in color from pale yellow to orange to red.