I'm not too sure how I feel about the pacing on the second half of this chapter but here it is!
Breena
When I get home Declan and I get the livestock in early because we won't get back from Grady's funeral until after dark. Fiona is at the stove cooking an early dinner. But I need a shower, the hot water feels good on my muscles but I don't have time to linger, I have to find something decent to wear.
I settle on an unstained pair of jeans and a clean black shirt not that you'll be able to see it under my weather stained jacket. We eat a quick dinner of scrambled eggs, toast and lamb before piling into the truck. After a few tries Declan is able to convince the hunk of rusted metal to groan to life, the radio picks up only static.
Fiona is sandwiched between Declan and I on the ten minute ride to the funeral cliff. The funeral cliff is the northern most cliff and the highest on the island and is typically the place where the pyres of the lost burn. It is where we held our mum's fire almost a year ago. Now a different flame glows as bright as the sunset to the west.
The MacFarlane's sit on one of the several log benches that circle the fire, the fire flickers and paints their faces with light and shadows. The sun is nearly down, islanders mill around the flames reminiscing quietly and comforting the grieving parents. The fiddlers and pipers play as they do at all the funerals, letting music speak where words cannot. I always feel strange at these funerals, I've only ever been to handful of them, when our parents were alive the rarely let Declan, Fiona and I go, we only went if we knew the person directly.
Declan leads the way over to the MacFarlane's, he knows them best. We tell them that we are sorry for their loss. The words probably sound empty and hollow to their ears; I know that's how they sounded to me last year.
From there I wander over to the edge of the cliff that overlooks Pebble beach. I sit down and I close my eyes and let the music wash over me, it is a sad building melody that fills me, the fiddle speaks of sorrow and longing on the ocean. The tide is high and splashes against the cliff walls, covering the millions of shiny pebbles that usually stud this beach.
"I have always found it strange that they play music even at the funeral of one who died at the hands of the Sidhe," a voice says to my left. I glance over to see Kean sitting beside me, "Music just attracts them, especially music like this."
I think about it for a moment and pull my knees up to my chest, "The music may attract them but it is one magic that is not only theirs, it is ours too, we are attracted to beautiful music as much as any Faerie."
...
Kean and I fall into a comfortable pattern. Nearly every afternoon we ride on the cliffs and beach, for me it is becoming a crutch, I've never been so alone in my own house. Some days we don't speak, most days we only exchange a few words, rarely, we have conversations yet I see him more than my siblings lately and since he showed me the Dryad we talk more and more. I think I see more too, though I pretend I don't. Declan has been working extra hours lately to make up for Grady's death and Fiona always rides into Rell with him. As a result they've both been exhausted and go to bed early.
Caleo has become accustom to Cinis's presence. The stallion likes to prance and preen in front of her but has never made an openly aggressive move; she is still watchful but not as nervous. And I have learned much about the Fey that I had never even thought to ask about before. Today we end up on the beach, several tourists who realized Kean is riding an Augisky watch from the cliffs. Kean and I work synchronized figure eights for a while just enjoying the sharp sea breeze that stings our cheeks and the quiet company.
I admire the way Kean rides, he is an extension of the horse, fluid and balanced. And Cinis moves beautifully, he is stronger and more powerful than any normal horse and even at the trot it is easy to see what and exceptional animal he is and when he gallops flat out it is breathtaking. You can see the familiarity between them when they are together.
Kean stops as we cross paths, "Bree, do you have any fresh milk I could buy?"
The random question along with the use of a nick name – I've never had a nickname before – pulls me up short, "Um, yeah if you want to stop by sometime to pick some up, we sell most of it to the Iron Bells but as long as you come before Wednesday I can give you some."
He nods his eyes going distant for a moment, "Would it be alright if we go now?"
I don't see why not so I nod and lead the way up the cliff path Kean and Cinis following behind. The tourists that were watching us are the nervous type; they are wearing a bunch of useless charm and back away as Cinis emerges from the beach. The road to my house from the beach is dirt and rarely has any traffic at all, it is the south beach that people like visit, so we ride side by side though the gap between us is more than we'd keep if he were on a normal horse.
I don't know exactly how it starts, our eyes meet, I smirk and then we are flying over the path our horses stretching out beneath us. We streak towards the house Caleo excited to just sprint flat out trying to keep up with Cinis. The moors blur around us, the horses are nimble over the dips and divots of the uneven dirt road their hooves pounding as fast as my heart. Cinis pulls ahead repeatedly but Caleo puts on a burst of speed each time not allowing him to gain too much.
There is no real winner of our impromptu race but as we slow to a canter then trot just before we get to my house we are laughing too hard to care. I realize I never heard Kean laugh before; it's a nice laugh deep and happy. We stop the horses who dance and clatter into the yard both amped from their run. Our laughter subsides and we dismount, Kean draws his symbols in the dirt near the house. Caleo balks at the burn barrel by the barn where the used shavings bags and broken fences smolder. I coax her by them and hook her to the crossties in the barn.
I walk in the house and go to the fridge; I glance over my shoulder and see Kean shifting awkwardly by the door. "You can come in if you want," I call motioning for him to come inside. He steps in but he looks so out of place in my cluttered kitchen with the peeling beige paint. I open the fridge and feel a slight pinch in my gut at the dwindling supplies, my cheeks flush with embarrassment and I try to block Kean's view of the fridge as I grab one of the jugs of milk and quickly shut the door. "How much do you want?" I ask pulling out some of the milk bottles that my dad kept under the sink.
"Just a bottle," he says, "that should be enough."
"Enough for what?" I ask pouring some of the milk into the bottle.
"Enough to keep Neve and the Brownie in the grain room happy for the week," he answers.
I nod and hand him the bottle, he takes it and pulls out his wallet but I wave him away, I won't take money from my friend no matter how much I need it, I'm too proud for that, however I will take an answer as payment. "I just want an answer, no money."
His brow furrows, "An answer to what?"
"What is a Keeper?" I ask, the question has been gnawing away at me since he first mentioned the term. "You said you were a Keeper but I still don't know what that is."
He seems to debate on whether or not to tell me before sighing, "I suppose I can answer that, we might want to sit down though, it's kind of a long story." I nod and pull two chairs out from the table, we sit, he rubs his eye, clears his throat and begins.
"A long time ago the Veil between Faerie and our world was relatively impervious outside of the Solstices, Samhain and Beltane, people rarely worried about the Fair Folk. But as time wore on holes appeared in the form of Faerie mounds called Sidhe – places where the Fey had pushed on the veil so hard that it eventually bowed into our world, allowing them to breach the barrier regularly – and the Fey began to make their way into the human world. Some of the human families were able to see through the glamour better inherently and took it upon themselves to learn about the Fey. They used what they learned to protect those in their towns and villages from the Faerie's tricks and mischief and passed on what they learned generation to generation.
"Now wherever there is an active mound there is a Keeper and after so many years of these families acting as Keepers to a mound they became tied to it. After generations of interacting heavily with magic some of it seeped into them so the more powerful the mound is the more powerful the Keeper is. The development of cities has repelled the Fey from certain areas and driven them to more remote places like our island. But because there are less mounds there are less Keepers now and it has become more dangerous for some of us because as other mounds collapse the Fey are driven to ours."
"Where is your Faerie mound?" I ask thinking of the numerous hills of the island.
"I forget just how much has been forgotten by the general population," he muses. "My Faerie Mound is Pooka Peak right smack in the middle of the island. It is tied to the island and the small fey islands that surround it including those of the Seelie and Unseelie courts."
My mouth pops open slightly. Pooka Peak was nearer to a mountain than a hill and had always been an ominous part of the landscape, a place we are warned away from at a young age. Pooka and Black Dogs roam its base and the forest that carpet its ridges are teeming with Fey life. Sometimes on quiet nights you can hear music floating from the Hill on the wind and see flickering lights but I've never guessed it was where Faerie life on Teelin originated. "That's a big responsibility," I murmur.
He nods, "It is a dangerous career that isn't really a choice and it doesn't pay well but I wouldn't give it up even if I could. I got passed the title early but that's not too unusual and I'd had enough training I managed." He took a deep breath, "The mound is pretty powerful and has many powerful Fey tied to it even those of the courts and some creatures older than them, but I manage and while they sometimes cause trouble I can usually keep them in line."
"So you're tied to the mound?" he nods in affirmation, "Than just how powerful are you?" If he was charged with controlling all these powerful Faeries he must have their respect somehow.
He takes a rod out of his pocket and flips it between his long fingers, "A lot of my power comes from knowledge, I know how to treat them, I know their weaknesses and strengths and I know how to use the tools I have." He seems reluctant to continue but after a beat of silence forges on, "I do gain some power from the Mound just as the Sidhe do but differently. I cannot use glamour to hide myself completely though it does help me to blend in and remain silent when I must, I gain healing capabilities and a few other perks, just enough to give me an edge."
I mull it over for a moment, "That's pretty awesome," I say.
His eyebrows raise in surprise, "Awesome? I've been called strange and tainted before but awesome is a first."
I am taken aback by that, "Well it is awesome, you have like superpowers and save people and walk among the Fey almost as one of them. Why would anyone think differently?"
"Not quiet Fey but not quiet human either," he laughs humorlessly, "most people would think it makes me a bigger evil than the creatures that would see them harm, that's why I don't tell people often. I prefer to let them think I just know a lot about the Sidhe and let them come for help, I think in their hearts a lot of them know something is different about me but they don't ask and I don't tell, it works better that way."
I frown at him, "But it must be awfully lonely."
He won't look me in the eyes when he says, "It doesn't bother me."