Shadows of the Redwood - By Gillian Summers Page 0,3
in Colorado at the High Mountain Faire. It seemed Keelie’s life was happening elsewhere while she was stuck here.
She walked behind the stone and timber homes of the village elves until she reached her house. Zekeliel Heartwood—her dad, master carpenter, tree shepherd, and current Lord of the Forest—had built this two-story craftsman-style house for his bride Katy, Keelie’s human mom. Now Keelie called it home. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else … except for that little house in Hancock Park, Los Angeles, where she’d lived with Mom.
“Dad?” No answer. Knot shot upstairs, and Keelie left the other mail on the kitchen counter and went back out, the folded Talbot and Talbot letter in her pocket. The village was quiet today. Many of the elves had left for the various fairs they worked across the country.
The air smelled sweet and full of life, and under her feet was the hum of living things. Deeper below, she could hear the heartlike thrum of the underworld. Under-the-Hill, just a hundred feet below her.
Keelie passed the circle of ancient oaks called the Grove, which surrounded the green where the village business took place. A giant but new tree rose in the center, its roots emerging from the broken pieces of petrified wood that had formed the Elven Council’s meeting place, the Caudex. Someone had made a pavement out of the fragments of the Caudex, and they still resonated with power.
The tree’s branches glittered with hanging chains, wind chimes, and bits of crystal. Her name was Alora. She had come from the Wildewood Forest in New York, an acorn in Keelie’s pocket. As a treeling she’d loved to wear Keelie’s earrings and other shiny jewelry, which she delightedly called “twinkles.” But the treeling had grown with magic, and was now the Great Tree of the Dread Forest. Her place on the Caudex had sealed the presence of the Dread in these woods and restored the balance of magic in the forest.
Leaves swished and branches rattled as Keelie approached the ancient trees and Alora. The trees greeted her, some friendly, some with indifference, but the three oaks call the Aunties trilled their delight at her presence, and Alora at their center most of all.
“Did you bring me twinkles?” Alora asked excitedly. She spoke aloud, although no regular elves could hear her. For all her power, she was still very young.
“No, I just went to the post office,” Keelie replied. “Dad doesn’t let me drive very far, since I just got my license.” She pulled the envelope from her pocket. “I got this, though. The house I lived in with my mom has been sold.”
Alora’s spirit face pushed out of her trunk. “Your root home? Your forest mother?”
“More like the pot she was planted in.” Keelie struggled to find another way to make a tree understand what a house meant. “You’ve been in my bedroom, when you were small. You know what it was like inside.”
Alora shuddered. “A pot made from the bones of trees.”
That was one way to describe a wooden house. “I was happy there with my mom. And now it’ll belong to someone else.” Keelie felt tears burn her eyes.
“But your roots are here. Your pot is not your home.” Alora looked puzzled.
One of the Aunties interrupted, in tree speak. I don’t understand how a treeling can have more than one pot. This is your pot. We are your forest.
Keelie sniffed. “Thanks. I love you guys so much. I can’t imagine living anyplace else. But I remember living there, and I was happy because I was with my mom.”
What trees were there? Another of the Aunties chimed in.
“Um, not too many trees. My mom didn’t want me to be around them.” Immediately she knew she’d said the wrong thing. Branches started to crack overhead as the trees expressed their disapproval.
“Oh, please,” Alora said. “Pipe down, Aunties. Her mother died only a ring ago.”
We remember her, one of the Aunties said. She had brown leaves like Keelie.
Keelie tugged at her short, curly hair. Leaves?
“Have you spoken with your father?” Alora asked. “He has much to discuss with you.”
“Uh oh. What’s up?”
You’re not in trouble, but he has a boon to beg of you, the Auntie said.
“A boon? A favor, of me? What kind?”
We can’t say, the Auntie replied.
Alora ran a slender branch across her mouth, as if zipping it up. The older trees rustled their branches at the human-like motion. They thought that hanging around with Keelie had corrupted their Great Tree.