The Steward (15 page)

“That’s so sad,” I said, leaning against Gavin’s shoulder. “But I don’t understand what’s so bad about the loss—it is a part of life.”

“You don’t quite comprehend, Maggie. Caorann found the thought of living for an eternity without him unbearable. As he grew weaker, she searched more frantically for something to preserve their time together. She searched further abroad, spending days and weeks away from him. Then, on one cold morning, she returned to the cottage. There was no fire in the hearth—her love had passed while she was away.” Gavin stopped for a moment, breathing heavily, and looked down.

“What is it, Gavin?” I asked.

He looked up. His eyes were wet, but his smile returned. “I’m fine, Maggie, but remembering Caorann’s pain is nearly more than I can bear.”

“You don’t have to tell me anymore. I think I understand now,” I said, trying to make it easier on him—I’d do anything to keep him from feeling pain. This time I didn’t hesitate—I grabbed his warm, thick hand and held it in mine.

“No, Maggie, the worst is yet to come, and it’s something you have to hear.” He smiled, again locking his eyes onto mine. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

He took a deep breath and continued. “She clung to his body and spoke to him, begging him to wake. She kissed his face, still beautiful in her eyes, and pressed her ear to his chest, desperate to hear his heart beat again. It did not. She begged his lifeless lips to call her name just once more, but they did not move. Her pain turned to agony.”

The anguish in Gavin’s voice hit me squarely in the chest. Tears began to well up in my eyes as he went on.

“She screamed at the walls of the tiny cottage, cursing them, as tears flowed down her face to the point she couldn’t see through her human eyes. She had known her greatest happiness with him, but from then on she would know nothing but pain. She begged for someone to help her, but none could. His essence was gone. She was alone, and for the first time in her existence, she hated being alive.

“Several of us went to see her in the days that followed, but she ignored us. After days of our pleading, Caorann finally brought herself to bury his remains. She placed him under the Rowan tree, in the very place where he lay in the grass, eighty years before, singing to her.

“She told us their story, caressing the grass above his grave. Fighting back the pain, she told us about every moment and emotion she’d ever felt with him. Then she smiled, looked up at us with tear-stained eyes, and said goodbye.”

I’d lost my battle with tears—they flowed unbridled down my cheeks.

“She spent the next sixty years at the cottage, refusing to take her natural form and never uttering another word. With each sunrise she went and sat under the tree, and at sunset, consumed by grief, she returned to the cottage. One morning, she realized that the tree was dead. In truth, it had been dead for several seasons but she hadn’t noticed before. She surveyed the cottage and found it in ruin. Tears flooding her eyes as if she’d only just lost him, she took one small, carved stone from the hearth he’d built and disappeared.”

My throat burned as I fought to keep the sobs in my chest. I wasn’t sure what was making me cry, the story or the pain in Gavin’s face as he told it. I dabbed my eyes with my sleeves, and smiled.

“Wow, you know how to break a girl’s heart, don’t you?” I asked, forcing a laugh.

“I’m sorry Maggie, I know you don’t like to cry,” he said, leaning against me.

“No, it’s alright. I don’t cry much, but I believe every once in a while a good cry does the soul good. At least that’s what Grandma Sophie says.” I wiped at another tear. “I just can’t imagine sixty years of heartbreak, that’s all. It’s silly, but I want to help her.”

“Nobody can help her,” he said as he wiped a tear from my cheek.

“Nobody
can?
” I asked. “So Caorann is still ... around ... alive? You said
was
before, I assumed she had ... died maybe.”

“No, she didn’t die, but she’s never recovered. To my knowledge, Caorann never spoke to anyone again, human or Fae.” He stared out over the water.

“I’m sorry, that was silly. Your kind probably can’t die,” I said.

“Actually, and I’m going to be in trouble for saying this, but yes, we can die. It’s not an ending as you likely perceive it, but our memories, our essence can be eliminated. Our Naeshura, or energy, never disappears, but it can take a new form.”

“Like reincarnation?” I asked.

“Perhaps, but since I haven’t died, I cannot say.” He smiled, still staring across the lake.

“Smart ass,” I said, beginning to recover from my emotional turmoil. “So, where is Caorann now?”

“I’m not sure. Other Fae have told me that she took bird form and for the last two thousand years she has not ventured far from where the cottage once stood, in what is now known as Glenariff Forest in the County Antrimm, Ireland. For centuries, there was a legend among the local people that the beautiful golden bird was an omen—that sadness and heartbreak were soon to follow wherever it appeared. The golden bird’s song was mournful, and anyone who heard it was rumored to be dragged into the deepest recesses of despair and madness. But like so many Irish tales, the lore of the golden bird vanished—long ago combined with and perverted into the stories of the banshee I imagine. If she is still in Ireland, she keeps to herself.”

“So that’s why relationships are forbidden, because we die?”

“No, Maggie, they are forbidden because
we
don’t. Caorann is but one example, and probably not the worst I could tell you. When Fae
love
, it forms the base of an eternal relationship. That is how it has always been with my kind—the connection is forever. Fae do not make a connection easily and we only make one during our existence.”

He smiled. “Those connections simply continue on and on. There is little chance for a Fae pairing to end, except in the exceptionally rare event that one ceases to exist. The clan wars left many Fae wounded to the core when one-half of a pair was slain. We learned that when one died, the other soon followed, or rather, it was best if they did. The survivors likened their existence to being torn in half. Some of my kind destroyed entire cities in grief induced rage.”

During the next few moments, I considered all that he’d said and understood perfectly the point Gavin was making. The rule was necessary for the sanity of the Fae and for the well-being and safety of people. I wanted Gavin more than ever, especially after hearing the emotion in his voice and seeing the warmth in his eyes, but I knew that was impossible.

With all the emotion hidden from his face, Gavin shocked me. “This is why it is so important that I know, right now, if it is possible for us to work closely together without risking an emotional attachment.”

My head spun when I considered the words. It was obvious, though I hadn’t considered it until now. Gavin was meant to be my
Treoraí, my
guide
. I knew I’d get a guide, Sara told me as much. How could I not see it? Gavin showed up in Eureka Springs just before I did. He’s playing the part of a sixteen-year-old and he’s my neighbor. It was right there the entire time.

“You’re my
Treoraí,
aren’t you?”

“Possibly. I’ve been selected to be your
Treoraí
, but it’s not final. I can only fulfill that duty on the condition that you fully understand what it involves. I will be your guide, and therefore, a part of your life for as long as you live, so long as we fully understand and agree to the limits placed on us. I’m afraid my kind, both clans, are even more serious than before—if we agree to this arrangement and things go too far…” he paused for a long moment, “it is essentially a death sentence.” He smiled at me, but I sensed how serious he was.

My chest tightened with a surge of adrenalin. “Oh my god, they’d kill me if we fell in love.”

His expression changed, his features hardening. “No, not you. Take no offense, but you’re not their concern.”

Hearing those words made me see stars. With my head spinning, my mind struggling to comprehend anyone bringing harm to Gavin, one thread wrapped itself around my thoughts and strangled the rest. I realized if I said no to him being my
Treoraí,
or if I showed him any indication that I was
already
attached, he couldn’t be my guide. That also meant he’d leave. The fear of losing him extinguished my anger almost instantly. I wanted him in any capacity that I could have him. I wasn’t in denial either—having him around for the rest of my life, unable to express how I felt, might end up making me completely miserable.

For a split second I tossed around the possibility of telling him that I couldn’t do it, but I was weak. I resolved to do anything I could to keep him close to me. Self-control and reason abandoned me. I knew there was danger, a real danger that I might not be able to hold it together and I couldn’t promise him that I could remain in control. But he was strong. So far he hadn’t shown a scintilla of interest in me. I’d simply have to trust that he could keep an emotional distance, and in the pit of my stomach, I knew it would be all too easy for him—he was magnificent and immortal, and I was anything but.

I gathered my wits and did the only thing I could think to do. I punched him in the bicep. Bewildered at first, he just stared at me.

Before he could talk, I answered. “If you think you can keep your hands to yourself, buddy, I can handle it on my end. It’s not like I’m into the whole perfect teeth, Greek god body, immortal thing. I’d like you to be my
Treoraí
. Besides, who would they replace you with? Chalen?” It made my shoulders shudder.

He stared intently into my face, clearly trying to read the images flashing in my mind. In my head I wrote ‘
cut it out’
on a new sheet of mental paper. He finally broke into a smile.

“I don’t get to make that decision. I was selected to be the next
Treoraí
just after you arrived
... but it’s not automatic—there are others who can step in if there is a need.”

Now I was very curious. “Who selected you?”

“The Seelie Council. After what happened with your father, we knew that you or your brother would be the next Steward. When you arrived two weeks ago it was obvious to Sara that you were the one.”

“Why me and not my father?” I still wondered why they’d skipped a generation.

“It could have been him, but when your dad was not much younger than you, Sara determined that he could not be the Steward. None of the O’Sheas of that generation could be.”

Gavin paused and looked intently into my eyes as if he were looking past them. It was like he sought something further back in my mind.

“Sometimes it skips a generation, and sometimes something happens to the intended Steward. A generation was skipped at least once before—the generation of your great, great, great grandparents, the generation prior to Lola, if I’m getting all the generations correct,” he said grinning. “A Steward must have a connection, though usually unawakened, to at least one of the elements, and that connection is created by inherent traits and learned behaviors. The connections appear in some families, like yours, and are passed from one generation to the next.”

“I feel like you’re speaking in riddles. Sorry. What do you mean by inherent traits?” I asked.

“I’m sorry—I suppose it does seem like a riddle. I forget that you only started believing in us yesterday,” he said, pointing his index finger to his head. “You’ve got some catch-up learning to do.”

I cleared my throat and rolled my eyes at him. He laughed.

“You passed the Earth trial why?” He paused.

“I don’t know, because I’m Earth aligned?” I guessed.

“Maggie, think about it. You passed the Earth trial because you possess an inordinate amount of self-control. While I didn’t see the trial, Sara said that you were able to calm yourself down and control your body in the very situation you feared more than any other. That’s quite a feat. I know you’ve seen the carvings in the temple—they are maps. They tell you the personal attributes that correspond with the primary elements. Earth and body, Water and mind, Air and spirit, Fire and soul, those are the pairings.”

He looked into my eyes again and smiled. “She was correct about you.”

“Who? Sara? What was she correct about?” I asked, trying to ignore the amber flecks in his eyes.

“She said you were gifted.”

I loved hearing that, though I had serious doubts about whether it was true. Still, to have Sara and Gavin call me gifted was incredible.

“Do I sense doubt?” he asked with a smirk.

“Oh, not much, only the
tiny, itsy bitsy
amount of lingering doubt any human girl would have after spending an hour and a half trapped in a cave on her head—probably not the most dignified way to take the Earth trial. I’m sure you heard that part?”

He began laughing. “No, but please, spare no detail.”

Rather than recount it, I played it back in my mind—except the part about him—and listened to the awkward soundtrack he provided while trying to stifle his laughter. After a few moments, a smile settled on his face. He was so easy to be around.

“Sara was absolutely correct—you really are in control of yourself.”

“Now you’re mocking me?”

“No, honestly, that trial played on one of your deepest fears and you turned your nightmare into a situation you could laugh about. Maggie, that’s amazing. Everyone has fears. Everyone. Few people have the ability and willpower to work through them. That is what I mean by gifted.”

The goofy, toothy smile I got anytime someone complimented me spread across my face. “Thanks. I hadn’t really thought about it that way. So this
inherent trait
, it’s something I was born with?”

“Well, yes and no. Members of your family have traits that empower them to become Stewards, and much of that can be attributed to genetics. As men are fond of saying, the raw material is there. You were born with the ability, the connection—the way your mind works—but the fully developed trait isn’t purely genetic. The Council has always picked Stewards based on more than natural ability. Who you are and how you deal with various situations has a great deal to do with other things—your friends and family shape you, and so does every situation prior to this moment in time, good and bad. I don’t know the exact criteria, but Sara does. She is much older than me, and much better at recognizing what the Council is looking for. She has selected each Steward of the Weald Fae for 160 years—all except Pete O’Shea.”