THE MAEBOWN (Weald Fae Journals, Book 4) by Shields Christopher

Author:Shields, Christopher [Shields, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi
Publisher: Weald Fae Journals
Published: 2014-04-15T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

VIRACOCHA

As soon as the Olympians made it through the Seoladán, they went below ground in Naeshura and Aphrodite hid them under Clóca. It was Candace’s idea—well, her mom gave her the inspiration. It turned out Chloe could see the Fae in physical form, but when the Fae were in Naeshura, she was as blind to them as any human. Sensing them while projecting, apparently, was another of my unique gifts.

Poseidon, grumpy when he wasn’t somber, refused to shift or cloak. He wanted Ozara to see him in the Weald. How do you force a sixty million year old Fae to hide when he doesn’t want to? You don’t. Wakinyan just growled and left him trudging along the beach down below the cottage ruins. The rest of us returned to the original Seoladán.

Right away, Enapay began helping Sara repair the Seoladán Cottage. He was the huge Ohanzee elder who lost his look-alike, Nodin, to the Rogues early in the summer. His handsome, angular face bore no visible signs of anguish, but, like Poseidon, he was subdued—especially compared to his personality before Nodin’s death. All the Fae seemed upset by the fact that only an hour earlier several of their kind had died, Wakinyan most of all. I left Candace, Ronnie, and Sean chatting by the elaborate fountain. She had apparently memorized my journal and was giving them the play-by-play of my Water trial.

I found Wakinyan past the greenhouse, down near the driveway. He was positioned atop a boulder and taking in the views of a changing landscape he’d known for millions of years. I climbed up beside him. Getting closer, his dark eyes, deep set under a heavy brow, appeared to be focused on nothing. I reached down and took his frying pan-sized russet hand in mine.

“Maggie,” he acknowledged me.

“If you don’t mind the company…”

A rare, warm smile eased the harshness of his face.

“I’m sorry about what happened.”

The deep sound of his voice resonated in his chest before he articulated the words, “It was an unfortunate necessity, but I grieve for them all the same.”

“Who was the one…you know.”

“His name was Capac…we were friends once.” The last half of what he said was little more than a dark whisper.

I’d never heard of him. “What clan?”

“Viracocha.”

I’d never heard of them, either.

“They were a small clan. Capac was first. He stayed here with us before he left to find his place in the world. May I show you?”

I nodded and he gently pushed a vision into my mind. Capac was not as tall as Wakinyan, and his features were more rounded. What struck me first were the dark tattoos around his eyes. They made him look fearsome. Beyond the image of Capac, the Weald flattened and the trees grew taller, much taller. I felt thick damp air clinging to my skin, weighting my blouse to my shoulders and chest. Vines and waxy green leaves the size of posters took shape around us. Layers and layers of jungle sprang up behind one another until we were surrounded and stood deep in some exotic forest.

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