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“Ouch,” I exclaim, patting myself as if I’m really on fire.
“No, no, no,” the Druid huffs. “Foolish. This is your power. It cannot hurt you unless you allow it too.”
“I don’t care what you say, that hurt.”
He frowns, shaking his head. The floof of a cat yowls and moves to my legs and rubs itself against them. I bend over and scratch behind her ears while keeping my attention on the Druid. The Druid is smacking his lips and huffing but not saying anything. I’ve grown used to his many eccentricities, including this one which I’ve privately labeled as a temper tantrum. For all the world that’s what it reminds me of, a two-year-old having a fit in a store when his Mommy won’t buy him what he wants.
That’s one point of the modern world that is definitely not better than my time with the MacGregors. Back then, kids’ temper tantrums, even toddlers, weren’t tolerated. As soon as a child could control their body they would be put to work and contribute to the village.
“Focus more.”
“I did focus.”
“Not more.”
I roll my eyes and sigh in exasperation.
“Fine, I’ll try again.”
“Try?”
“Right, Yoda, I’lldoit again.”
The Druid, it turns out, is a big fan of Star Wars. I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s Yoda and I’m thankful he hasn’t started talking like the little green monster. It’s been a week since he agreed to train me again. We’re making progress, if slow; at least we’re working with what is obviously magic.
I haven’t seen Moira or Dugald in the past week, which is fine with me. I’m pissed at both of them. I don’t know what to say or do about Moira. I can’t believe she’s a Fae too. I thought I was holding this entire part of my life at bay, cleverly hiding it away from her, but surprise, there is no escape. It’s frustrating and hurtful. Why didn’t she tell me? Is anyone else in my life a hidden Fae?
“Take a break,” the Druid says. “Walk, stretch. It is good for the body and the mind.”
“Okay,” I say, pushing my sweaty hair out of my face.
I guzzle half the bottle of water I brought with me. Then stretch from side to side. We’re in a deep forest. The only magic I’ve successfully done with any degree of intention or control is to get here. When I found the Druid a week ago, I did this instinctively. He calls itsidestepping.
Basically, the magician folds space and then steps over before letting it unfold. There are rules to it and complexities but that’s how I imagine it in my head. Of course, to even begin to wrap your head around it you have to throw out any concept of physics and known science. I’m sure any of the quantum physics crowd would love to study it.
The space we’re in isn’t technically part of Earth. It’s a pocket of the Fae Realms, which means time flows different here too. I can train for an entire day and only be gone for an hour in the real. A fact that the Druid and I have been using to great, if exhausting, effect.
Swinging my arms, I roll my neck and shoulders, trying to work out the kinks. I’m still fighting exhaustion but nothing new has blown up. I am making progress too, so for now at least, things are as good as they’re likely to get.
I walk around the clearing, which is ringed by massive trees. Above us the sky is perpetual twilight with twinkling stars. I’ve never seen it look any other way. There are paths through the trees, many of which I’ve run because part of my daily training is always cardio.
“Run the path.”
“Still catching my breath.”
“I know. You’re weak. Your body must be stronger for what is to come.”
“And what is that?” He chuckles, not bothering to even pretend it’s a right question. I’ve asked it too many times. “Fine.”
I pick a path into the trees that I don’t think I’ve run before and take off. I pace myself to a jog. No point in burning out early. The trees rustle as I pass. Sometimes it feels as if I am more aware of the sounds than others. When I am, like now, the rustling seems like the trees are talking to each other. Stranger still, I canalmostunderstand them. It’s that thing you can’t quite put your finger on. The name or word that sits on the tip of your tongue but you can’t get.
The flowing air is refreshing so I let my thoughts wander as my body falls into the rhythm of the run. If I can sidestep into this realm, then it shouldn’t be that much different to bend time as well as space. If I can master that, then I can return to Duncan and the MacGregors.
Except when I traveled it was through the fog. What does the fog have to do with it? When Dugald pulled me out of the coffee shop there was fog too. Is it purely a Dugald thing? A tool or crutch he uses to travel like this?
Somehow that doesn’t feel like that’s it. Or not all of it. I’m missing something, which is a nice summary of my life since returning from Scotland. I’ve spent so much time missing things that it all fell apart. Missing my parents, classes, friends, not to mention the MacGregors and, most of all, Duncan.
That thought I push aside. I’m not giving up; I’m taking the steps to get back to him. Problem is, as I see it right now, there are a lot of them to take. There’s no easy path to him because I have an entire life here that needs me too. I’m not a loner orphan called away to magic school. Hogwarts didn’t send me an invite, the Fae did. Sort of. Okay, so the analogy only goes so far, but the point stands.
