Since there is currently a snow storm rolling through I figured I'd update.
The story that I am currently working on is written in a past tense omniscient viewpoint therefore I apologize in advance if I slipped up on the tenses.
Breena
Scottie trots in front of us on our way home his bushy tail wagging and his nose to the road sniffing. Scottie stops dead in front of us, it is a good thing Caleo is paying attention and manages to avoid making a Scottie pancake. I call his name but he doesn't even look back his eyes are locked to the right of the road, his hackles are up and for the first time in all the years I've known him the growl coming from his throat scares me.
I look to the left and the right scanning the tall dead grass looking for what has set my dog into a tizzy but see nothing. Then the grass rustles and a massive black dog erupts from the grass and lands in our path facing Scottie who lets out a feral snarl. The Black Dog is as big as a three month old calf but with hulking mass, it is covered in a rug of shaggy, black fur, its lips curl back in a snarl and its eyes that glow like hot coals glare at Scottie. Caleo is quivering beneath me frozen in her fear.
Scottie is less than half the Fey dog's size but he doesn't back down, he takes a step forward and lets loose a whole new wave of growls. The Black Dog responds. I watch frozen as the two animals posture trying to decide who is the weaker of the two, I am sure that Scottie will not win this fight. But much to my surprise the Black Dog lowers its head and turns to run off the way it came.
Caleo and I stand frozen as Scottie walks back to our side and sits staring up at me like nothing ever happened. I have no way of knowing why the Black Dog didn't attack and without Kean I will have no answer. After a couple deep breaths and some soothing words to my mare I recover enough to continue on towards home though Caleo is nervous and twitchy shying at shadows and bushes the entire ride home.
Kean
I've taken to riding Cinis along the cliffs just before sunset which allows me to avoid seeing Breena but the late rides are really starting to wear me out and three nights in the last week alone I've been called to help with the Fey. The Sidhe have been more restless than usual, most of the beaches have been roped off to keep tourists safe, flat tires have been abundant along with missing items. There have also been five deaths attributed to the Black Dogs - all tourists - and two disappearances that have been thought to be Pooka related. Just last night one of the small farm houses burnt to the ground with three people inside, they called me out but there was nothing I could do, even I can't walk through fire.
I rub my eyes and sigh quietly. I'm tired of babysitting the rich mainlanders who come to Allard's to look into buying horses or sending theirs out for training or breeding. I did not take this job to babysit overgrown children and their children. When Dunkin trots into the yard I'm torn between wanting to smile and strangle him. I know he's been off with Breena which worries me but he's become my ally, almost a friend nonetheless he is also an Elf, one of the eldest Sidhe; we should not be friends.
A hand wraps around my elbow, I can tell without looking that it is Marissa, I don't know anyone else with claws like hers. "What?" I ask without looking at her.
"You're always so cranky lately," she whines, "I think we should go for a ride, maybe it will cheer you up."
I roll my eyes, "I'm working."
"You're always working."
I jerk my arm away and fight a smile when Dunkin starts for the barn giving me a plan to get away, "I have to talk with Dunkin," I tell her and start off in his direction. "Dunkin," he pauses and looks over his shoulder at me his whirling green eyes unnerving me slightly, "I need to talk with you." He lets me catch up and we make for Cisco's stall in silence, I lean against the open door.
"Do you know what I saw today?" he asks surprising me.
"Besides the obvious?" I say.
He pulls off Cisco's saddle and faces me, "A Feeorin, talking to Breena."
My eyes narrow, "What did it say," my voice sounds sharp even to my own ears.
"I didn't hear," he admits, "I came out of the Fat Cat and there was a Feeorin on my horse, Breena said something about big friends crushing people when they fall."
I rub the crook of my elbow and my stomach flips, I am fairly sure that the Feeorin was not refering to the actual size of a friend nor physically being crushed, "Well that's comforting."
"Does this have to do with your Tithe?" he asks his green eyes flashing.
"It might," I admit, "Why do you care so much?"
His jaw tightens, "I want to know if you are putting Breena in the firing zone of a Sidhe on a warpath."
My hand slapped against the door, "Why are you messing with that mortal?" somehow I manage to keep my voice low.
He grits his teeth, "We've been over it, it is my business, I do not intend to cause her harm."
He tries to push by me but I block his path, "Come on Faerie boy, what business do you have dealing in mortals?"
Dunkin snorts, "You wouldn't understand Keeper," he spits the title at me like an insult, "there are things on this island that are veiled even to you."
Fear and annoyance thrills down my spine. Dunkin makes the mistake of reaching out to push me aside, my hand flies up and grabs his wrist. His face twists and he grunts in pain, "You may think you're high and mighty Elf but iron can still burn you if I will it, don't underestimate me."
Dunkin yanks his arm back, the flesh of his wrist has three angry red welts. Satisfaction and adrenaline bubble in my chest, until suddenly I can't seem to pull air into my lungs. A feral expression curls Dunkin's lips and his eyes glow, "Don't underestimate me mortal, I am prince of the Elves I have been alive since long before your family had even become Keepers, longer than your race has walked this planet; my magic is old and powerful." The glow in his eyes fades and air rushes into my lungs.
I double over gasping and choking, Dunkin brushes by me with his tack. There is no one else in the barn aisle.
I steer clear of Dunkin the rest of the day as well as I can though Allard has the two of us ride for some potential buyers. We don't speak with each other but to announce 'inside' or 'outside' when we pass. Knowing what he is I can see why he is so at ease with the horses, he uses the same type of magic as I do but his is stronger and subtler. He doesn't need lessons from me, for the first time I find myself wondering if the Fey have something they could teach me.
Once all the horses are fed and bedded down for the night I head home. Just like always I know he is there before he shows himself, it worries me. If I've always been able to sense the presence of a powerful fire elemental Sidhe than how strong is Dunkin to be able to mask his presence from me?
Much to my surprise Cina doesn't show himself which just sets me more on edge. This Trath has been strange even for the Trath, the Fey do not seem to be following the patterns that they have been following for centuries. When I get in Neeve tries to usher me to the table to eat but much to her disappointment I brush her off and head for the attic. A stray memory is pricking at the back of my mind, a book that I haven't seen in many years.
The room is coated with dust and the lights are dim, they flicker threatening to go out, it has been years since I've come up here. The attic is full of my family's past. The west wall is covered with a bookshelf full of books on Sidhe lore - some of it is even hand written - the north wall is covered in shelves of boxes and jars and bins full of various weapons and Sidhe repellants and charms - most of them are things I'd never dream of using, their sole purpose is to cause pain and suffering before death. The east wall has a desk where my father used to spend hours poring over old lore and prophecies sure that he was onto some big discovery that he would never elaborate on. The south wall is wallpapered in sketches and paintings of plants and Sidhe with small paragraphs to explain them.
When I was young, especially after my parents' deaths I spent a lot of time up here; I'd get back from Allard's and spend the entire night pouring over books and pictures, maps and calling Keeper friends of my father's. I wanted to know everything so I memorized all the things I would need to know and tried to piece together what my father was working on. I couldn't make heads or tails of his notes and eventually I gave up, locked the attic door and it's pretty much been shut up ever since.
But there is a book I need, I may have memorized all that I thought I'd need to know but that doesn't mean I know everything and I know next to nothing about Elves. I brush dust off the spines of books as I walk, I find the one I am looking for sprinkling the floor with dust when I pull it out. It's thick and old, bound in leather with yellowed pages, it looks just like I remember it; my hands running over the cover do not look the same however, instead of the small smooth hands of a child mine are large and calloused, scarred from countless Sidhe encounters.
I turn to leave but something stops me, a thought tickling in the back of my skull, one that I can't quite grasp, like a word on the tip of your tongue. I grab the two folders and three notebooks that are neatly stacked on my father's desk and head back down stairs turning off the light, shutting and locking the trap door behind me. As I pass by the kitchen I take the plate of food Neeve is holding and murmur a 'thank you' to make her feel better.
In my room I dump my dad's old things on my desk and crash onto my bed leaving my dinner balancing on my alarm clock. Sitting crossed legged on the mattress I crack the book open, the spine groans in protest and the pages spit dust at me. The pages are yellow and brittle the inside cover has a hand written message;
"The compiled works of Aengus O'Donghue put into print by Delma O'Donoghue
in 1643 for the use of current and future Keepers. Best of luck."
I don't know exactly how old the information in this book is, I only know that it was organized and copied over almost four hundred years ago. I flip to the table of contents scanning down to "Regarding the Elvish Folk" page 213. Ever so carefully I flip through the pages - one wrong touch and the pages crack and crumble - until I reach page 213.