The Forest of Aisling: Dream of the Shapeshifter (The Willow Series Book 1)
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Authors: D.S. Elstad
The Willow
Series
Book One
The Forest of
Aisling
Dream
of the Shapeshifter
By
DS Elstad
Copyright © 2013 by D.S. Elstad
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International
and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of
this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system
without express written permission from the author / publisher
This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover Design Art – D.S. Elstad
Printed in the United States of
America
First Printing, 2013
ISBN 978-1484834176
Pepper Publishing
P.O. Box 775
Wheatridge, CO 80034
DEDICATION
John
& Hannah, for your love, patience, and support, when I needed them the most
Darlene,
for reading it first and all the words of encouragement
Darkness enveloped the forest, giving way to occasional
patches of moonlight forming a myriad of shapes and shadows on the damp
earth. Fast-moving clouds fueled by the evening breezes eclipsed
the moon, adding to the ever changing patterns on the forest floor.
Deep in the woods low howls could be heard,
rich, guttural sounds, quickly changing into high-pitched yelps and yips.
A symphony of wails and moans filled the crisp autumn night air.
I took in a long deep breath and allowed the sense
of urgency to overtake me. I began running, my legs stretching out, muscles expanding
and contracting with each step. My pace was slow at first but soon
quickened as the sound of the night echoed in my ears; oxygen filling my lungs while
I raced toward the howls in the distance.
Stray
beams of moonlight danced between the tall pines and landed on the forest floor
acting like some kind of road map. I zigzagged in and out of the trees,
sure-footedly jumping over boulders and branches. As I neared the
sounds they abruptly stopped, but I continued running until I came to a
clearing in the forest. The area was bathed in moonlight so bright it
resembled a searchlight, pouring down like liquid light. I lowered
my head and inhaled deeply, finally catching my breath. When I looked up
I found myself surrounded. The pack was slowly closing in, low growls
coming from every side. Out of their midst one lone gray wolf stepped
forward, letting out a warning yip to the others. They backed off.
The large gray came within a few feet, its head lowered, golden eyes focused
squarely on where I stood.
Then began the ringing, that despised,
predictable, unwelcome sound of the morning. Slowly I reached over and
dropped my hand on top of my twin bell alarm clock. “Hush up, I hear
you,” I said as I silenced the noise.
“You have the worst timing,” I moaned, tossing the
clock to my pile of clothes in the corner. “Just once I’d like to see
what the pack does to me.” I rolled out of bed, grabbed my clothes, got
dressed, and rushed into the kitchen for breakfast.
Sitting there at our round polished-oak table was
my Dad, Jack Whelan, reading the paper, drinking his coffee. Early
morning sunshine poured in through the window directly behind him, washing him
in a saintly glow.
“Morning, Dad,” I said as I poured my
cereal.
“Hiya, kiddo,” he mumbled.
Dad wasn’t much of a talker in the morning.
Now that I think about it, Dad wasn’t much of a talker in the afternoon or
evening for that matter. I sat beside him at the kitchen table and added
milk and berries to my cereal.
I could hear my mom, Tala, outside talking to our
dog. She always began her day walking our mutt…er, I mean golden lab,
Chance. “A dog needs to stretch his legs first thing in the morning,” she
would say. She stepped in through the screen door, letting it slam shut
behind her.
“Good morning, my love,” she beamed as she looked
my way, grabbing hold of her steaming cup of tea and adding her customary
orange slice.
“Morning, Mom.”
“Sleep well?”
I yawned and nodded. “Had my dream
again.”
“Ah, the Ihan’bla. Did you get any farther with
meeting the pack?” she asked, joining Dad and me at the table.
“No, stupid alarm clock. One thing
that was different this time, though, was a big gray wolf… it stepped away from
the others, kind of like it was the alpha.” I took a sip of my orange
juice. “Why do I wait to have my bla bla bla
just before I need to get
up?”
“Ihan’bla, Willow. Some respect, please.”
“Ok, sorry, Ihan’bla,” I said, enunciating each
syllable perfectly.
She chuckled and said I must not be ready to see
the rest of the dream yet, whatever that means. Mom is from the Lakota
tribe of North Dakota. She was born on the reservation there and moved
out all on her own when she was seventeen, just a year older than I am
now. She likes to remind me that, being Lakota, we see things a little
differently than many people. My dad included.
When I first began having these dreams about a
month ago, Mom told me about Ihan’bla, a Lakota ritual, the vision quest.
For some Lakota, the vision quest can come in the form of dreams. For others,
it’s a ritual that they actually have to participate in. The visions are
seen as a means through which the supernatural world may contact and advise the
natural world, meaning me, I guess. The supernatural part is the part I
can’t quite figure out and that scares me a little bit. Anyway, it’s a
cool dream. I just wish I knew what it meant.
So I sat there, munching on my too-sweet breakfast
cereal, trying to wake up and flashing back to my dream or my Ihan’bla.
The sounds, smells and sights of it…so real. That was about the tenth
time I’d had that dream. Only difference with this last time was the
appearance of the gray alpha and its golden eyes that were about the only color
to stand out in the monochrome shades of the forest.
“Better get a move on, don’t want to be late,” Mom
ordered as she grabbed her purse. “I’ll be out in the car.” She kissed my
dad on top of his head and stepped out the back door.
I grabbed my backpack and lunch, hugged Dad, and
headed towards the door.
“Need to talk with you when you get home,
Wils,” said Dad.
I glanced back at him. He hadn’t even turned
from his paper and was sipping his coffee. He looked sort of sad, I
thought.
“Sure Dad, see you later,” and I rushed out the
door.
Our drive to school was typical, talking about the
day, what was going to happen, who I’d have lunch with. Only thing that
wasn’t typical was that this was a new school and the start of my second month
there, so I didn’t really know what was going to happen. I’d made a few friends
and liked the school for the most part. The teachers were cool and I got
into all of the classes I wanted.
My parents jumped at a chance to send me to the
Santa Fe Fine Arts Academy. The school had a reputation as being one of
the best in our area; plus, it had an arts program my mom drooled over.
“I wish they would have had something like this when I was your age,” she’d
say, trying to convince me it was a good thing.
As we pulled into the school’s circle drive, Mom
reached into her purse and pulled out a small rock. “I painted this for you.”
She took hold of my hand and placed the
stone in my palm. Painted on it was an eagle with outstretched wings.
“Remember, the eagle is a winged symbol for the Lakota people. It is the
strongest and bravest of all birds. Hold this in the palm of your hand
when you’re feeling frightened or unsure. The eagle will fill you with
courage.” She closed my fingers around the stone.
“Um, ok.” I looked into her sparkling
eyes. I suddenly felt like it was my first day of kindergarten instead of
my fifth week of high school but didn’t say anything other than “thanks.” She
looked happier than I’d seen her for a long time and I didn’t want to bring her
down by reminding her how old I was. I grabbed my pack and lunch and jumped
out of the driver’s seat. She scooted over, took control of the wheel,
and blew me a kiss.
As I slammed the door shut I thought how weird it
was…that Mom was looking so happy and Dad just the opposite, so sad.
Pushing through the crowd of laughing and yawning
kids I finally reached my locker, grabbed the lock, and struggled to remember
the combination. The noise echoing in the hall made it almost impossible
to concentrate, like trying to remember the lyrics of one song while singing
another.
Right 19, left 8, right 3,
I thought, as I
tried the combination, then pulled down hard on the lock…no luck.
Right
8, left 3, right 19.
Still no luck.
“Having
problems?” asked a deep voice directly above me.
“Yeah, can’t remember my combo,” I answered
without looking up to see who I was talking to.
“You only have a few seconds, better just head off
to class,” said the voice again.
This time I glanced up to see an Indian boy with
long black hair pulled back into a braid. He practically stood on top of me
with his piercing chocolate-brown eyes, holding me in place for a few seconds.
“Yeah, right,” I stammered as I slowly
stood. In my boots I was nearly nose to nose with the boy and very
uncomfortable with how close he was standing.
“You’re in my language arts class, wanna walk with
me?”
“Ok.” I tried to recall if I’d seen him
before. His face looked somewhat familiar but I couldn’t be sure if I’d
ever met him.
“You’re Willow, right?” he asked as we hurried
along the packed hallway.
“Yep, Willow Whelan,” I answered, all the while
thinking,
who is this and why’s he so interested?
The boy began to speak again just as the bell rang
for first period. “Whoa, let’s run.” He grabbed my wrist and sprinted for
the door a few feet away. I pulled my arm back and moved in front of him,
entering the crowded classroom.
I quickly found my seat and unloaded my heavy
backpack. Catching my breath, I tried to focus on the teacher, who had
already begun the lesson. As I relaxed and settled into the routine, I thought
about the boy I’d just met and began to feel curious about him. My eyes
scoped the room, looking at the many still-unfamiliar faces. Then, I spotted
him. He sat there, several rows away from me in the last desk,
staring. I quickly turned and felt myself blush.
Oh great,
a
stalker.
Class went by quickly and I was feeling much more
at ease. After the teacher dismissed us, I decided to try my locker one
more time. Grabbing my pack I could feel it becoming lighter as I heaved
it onto my back. Spinning around, once again, I found myself nose to nose with
the Indian boy.
“Let me help,” he said, easing the straps over my
shoulders. I felt completely flustered and really uncomfortable with the
attention. “Where to next, Willow?” he asked, his hand resting on my
shoulder.
“My locker, I need to unload some of this,” I
grumbled, trying hard to discourage his attention. I quickly left the
classroom and sprinted, looking back to make sure I lost him in the
crowd. This time I opened the locker with no problem. As I was
unloading my pack, that already too-familiar voice came up behind me once
again.
“Ah, you remembered your combination.”
By this time I was annoyed and quickly stood, “Are
you following me or something?” I asked, my eyes squinting in irritation.
The boy looked to the ground. “No, sorry,”
he mumbled, then turned to leave. He quickly disappeared into the moving
crowd.
Ugh, why did I do that?
I asked
myself, shaking my head. The bell once again chimed and I rushed to my next
class. For the next two periods I kept replaying the conversations with
the boy in my head, each time adding to the level of guilt I felt for being so
short with him. I tried to remember where or if I’d seen him before and
couldn’t help but wonder why he kept following me.
A guy as attractive as he was, most probably was
beating girls off with a stick. Not that I’m not attractive, thank you
very much. I could clean up pretty well when I wanted to; only thing was,
most times I didn’t want to. I’m definitely a creature of comfort and for me
that usually doesn’t include make-up and dresses. Mom would call me her
“natural beauty,” saying that I got the best of her and Dad: his deep
chestnut-colored hair and her ginger eyes. “Being a cross between Lakota and
Irish has served you well,” she would say.
Finally,
lunchtime arrived and I made my way to the cafeteria. I searched the room
and spotted my friends Leah and Sam, motioning for me to join them. I
also saw Native boy standing in line. I debated talking to him but gave
in to the guilt. Inching up behind him I said, in a soft tone, “Are you
following me?”
He turned around and cocked his head, then looked
to the ground. He seemed uncomfortable so I smiled and apologized.
“That’s ok,” he said. “Sorry if I was
bugging you.”
“Well, maybe a little.” I laughed my nervous laugh.
“Bugging me that is…” then choked on my words. The guy was
unapproachably good looking and here I was saying he bugged me. “Not
really, you weren’t bugging me. It’s just that I’m new here this year and
mornings are crazy, what with trying to remember my way around.” I
grabbed hold of a loose strand of hair and placed it behind my ear, suddenly
feeling very intimidated.
“Yeah,
I understand. I just transferred here three days ago,” he replied as he took
hold of a food tray.
“Oh really?” I answered in a freaky shrill voice
that caught me off guard. I coughed and tried to cover up my reaction.
“Yeah, my family moved from Taos so I could go to
school here. We just got here over the weekend.” He reached down
and grabbed a hamburger from the counter and placed it on his tray.
It was then I noticed all the people that were
gawking at him. I turned my head to see kids on either side,
staring. I raised an eyebrow at the number of onlookers he had, both guys
and girls, like, he was some kind of a rock star. Intimidation stirred inside
me again and I decided it was time to go. “Well, anyway, sorry for being a
biotch, just caught me at a bad time,” I muttered.
He took hold of my hand and held it firmly for a
few seconds. “No problem, thanks for the apology,” he said, smiling a
wickedly handsome smile.
“Sure,” I felt strangely transfixed by his
grin. I pulled my hand away and felt a tingle rush from my fingertips up
my arm.
Weird.
I started to walk away then spun around, “Hey,
wait, I don’t know your name.”
