Spirit Formed

  Spirit Formed

  N. E. Conneely

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  New Release Newsletter

  Also by N. E. Conneely

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2018 N. E. Conneely

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information-storage-and-retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher or author. Requests for permission to copy part of this work for use in an educational environment may be directed to the author. This book is a work of fiction. References to historical events, real people, or real locales are made fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  To my fans.

  Chapter One

  Cord leaned in close. “Two weeks.”

  Shasta took a big bite of her sandwich. The hummus blend was delicious, and the crunch of the cucumbers more or less drowned out the rest of Cord’s whining.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  Shasta set down her sandwich and took a drink. She folded her arms and eyed Cord calmly. His cheeks were pink, his blue eyes a bit brighter than usual. “I heard you. I also heard you yesterday when you called the office to complain—”

  “To inform,” he corrected.

  She pursed her lips.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “You called the head of the company”—who just so happened to be her mother, but that was a different matter altogether—“to tell her that you didn’t think there was a good reason for us to be here anymore. That prompted a meeting between us, Mom, and Godric—who you seem to have forgotten is both the mayor and the man who hired us—over speakerphone. All of that to settle that the mayor still wanted us here in case the issue crops up again, and Mom was in agreement. I don’t think there’s much more to be said.”

  Cord sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “This feels like a waste of time.”

  “I prefer to look at it as a company-sponsored vacation.” Shasta picked up her sandwich. “The food is good, the surroundings lovely. Right now the only thing I can complain about is the company.” She took another bite of her sandwich. The cucumbers really were delicious. She pointedly looked out the window.

  Quaint brick-faced shops lined both sides of Main Street. Outside the library, Wyrran and Meron chatted, likely about Wyrran’s last hunt and if he had any leather for Meron. Down the street what, in this town, passed for a traffic jam clogged up the entry to the general store. Nerrin and Ashling had nearly collided into Cicada and Embath. Shasta had met all of them in passing, but in a town of elves, only Cicada, with her turquoise hair, had stood out. In a few moments the four of them cleared the entryway.

  This town was small enough that Main Street was the hub of activity, in part because it was the only real road. The rest of the town had dirt tracks or footpaths. They hadn’t driven the car since they arrived, and that was fine with her.

  With mountains in the distance and forest all around, the town could be almost anywhere in Appalachia. The only particularly unique feature was the purely elven population. To the best of her knowledge, she was the only not-elf in town. Though, being tall, slender, with long blonde hair, and pointed ears, she blended right in with the locals. Unlike them, she was half elf and half witch. Typically an unheard of combination, but considering she’d been quite literally born of the earth, it wasn’t the most unusual thing about her.

  Outside, the big, fluffy cloud passed in front of the sun, momentarily shading the town. Her only complaint with this entire assignment, aside from the currently grumpy partner, was summer lingering when fall should be taking over. Usually this time of year, the oppressive heat of the day would have mellowed, and there’d be a bit of a breeze. Instead, it was the middle of September, and it was still blistering hot.

  “You don’t find it odd,” Cord went back to poking at the town’s problem he couldn’t seem to solve, “that there were two distinct rounds of attacks before we showed up and nothing since?”

  She looked at him and suppressed a sigh. He really wasn’t going to let this go. “There were more than two rounds of attacks. At least the way I would count it.”

  “I thought there were only those strange deer creatures?” His brow furrowed.

  Shasta bobbed her head. “Right, but the first set of these creatures—whatever their exact abilities were—attacked multiple times. It took about four different attacks for locals to kill all of them. And even then they weren’t quite sure what to do with the things.”

  That was the part that surprised her the most. It wasn’t normal for elves to not know what to make of an otherwise natural creature. Of course, in the case of those deer, that was just the point. They didn’t seem to be natural creatures.

  The first time the eight deer had stampeded in the town, running right into people and evading the elves, their connection to creatures, and whatever weapons they had on hand, the town of Quercuston had been perplexed. It was suggested that the deer were rabid, or that somehow a bit of magic had gotten into them and gave them some unusual abilities. That thought lasted until it took them four different rounds of attacks to kill the eight deer and even then only managed it with weapons usually reserved for much heartier game.

  After the four rounds with the deer, Quercuston’s residents would have been more than happy to settle back into their normal life. Then, four weeks ago, ten more of the strange deer creatures stampeded through town again. They left behind two broken arms, several deep lacerations, and one punctured lung. The elves hadn’t managed to kill a single one that time. However, Godric had connections. He’d heard of Oaks Consulting, and Shasta's unusual blend of talents. That was how she and Cord had ended up spending two lovely weeks in Quercuston.

  She had to admit Cord was right on one point. They really hadn’t done anything to be worth their pay. They would’ve had more to work with if the carcasses of the original deer had been saved, but the elves had burned them. That wasn’t a bad plan when magic was likely involved, but it meant the evidence had gone up in smoke.

  “Hello?” Cord leaned closer. “You left off in mid-sentence.”

  Shasta came back to herself with a bit of a shudder. “Sorry. Like I was saying, the first herd attacked four times and the second one once. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of those creatures.”

  Cord tapped his fingers on the table. “Then how do you explain the long gap? None of the other attacks had this much time between them. In two weeks those deer could have traveled hundreds of miles.”

  “Oh, I doubt it. Two herds with similar adaptations; there’s something else afoot.” Whether or not Cord wanted to admit it, that something else was the real reason they’d been waiting around for two weeks. Before they could determine what was going on with the creatures, they needed to capture or kill one. That way they could examine it and get some information. They’d gone out hunting, set up bait stations, and so far nothing. Until they had a specimen, they were on a paid vacation where they had to be a little extra vigilant and keep their weapons handy.

  Cord opened his mouth.

  Shasta held u
p a hand. “I don’t want to hear it. You stirred up all sorts of trouble yesterday. And when you finally came to bed, you droned on about it some more. I understand your concern, but not only do I disagree, I’m tired of listening to it. I want to enjoy my lunch then perhaps check out a shop. Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky and stumble upon them.” She picked up her sandwich again and chomped down on the cucumber. She needed to ask what type they were so she could grow them back home. They were truly delicious.

  Cord frowned at her but finally sighed and went back to eating his own lunch.

  Rather than watch him stew, she gazed out the window. The clouds had moved away, and the sun was back in full force. Ayla passed by the window with a towering arrangement of sunset orange roses and plum rhododendron in her hands. The roses were a giant variety she’d developed. The vibrant rhododendrons were the work of Areena, another local. Sometime, Shasta needed to tour their farms, but today she wanted to stick close to town. Across the street, the sign for The Tree Sisters swayed back and forth. Maybe when she finished eating she’d go take a look. It was one of the few shops she hadn’t gotten into yet, and the word was they had some of the best fruit preserves in town.

  Bliss walked over, a pitcher of tea in one hand and water in the other. She held up the tea. “Refill?”

  “I’m done.” Shasta glanced at Cord. “I’ll be over at The Tree Sisters if you need me.”

  Cord nodded and nudged his water cup toward the edge of the table. Behind him, Bliss’s husband, Mack, took off his apron and waved at his wife as he left.

  Bliss flashed a smile at Mack before refilling Cord’s cup with a steady hand. “You still have plenty of money in your account. See you tomorrow?”

  Shasta nodded. “Wouldn’t miss the best food in town.”

  Bliss’s smile widened. “I don’t need flattery.”

  Shasta grinned. “It’s the truth, and you know it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Bliss rolled her eyes.

  Shasta shook her head as she made her way between tables to the wooden door that had darkened with age. It was old enough that the glass pane was thicker at the bottom than the top. She pushed it open and stepped outside. A hint of a breeze danced across her skin, lacking the punch of summer. Maybe fall was on its way. At the end of the street, a towering red oak swayed ever so slightly. Hopefully, the leaves would turn while she was here. In her mind, the view of the mountains was a collage of reds, golds, and yellows. It would be nice to see if reality matched her imagination.

  Underfoot, the sidewalk was soft. Unlike the concrete that was popular in most towns, here they had beds of chamomile. While it required more maintenance, there was always an elf willing to lend a hand, so it never went untended. The street was a bit more traditional; bricks fitted together so tightly it was hard to see a crack. They might as well have been bedrock—unmovable, solid, as close to perfect as elven craftsmanship could make them. She carefully checked both ways before crossing the street. There wasn’t much traffic, but that was no reason to be careless.

  The door to The Tree Sisters was a green that went from near black at the bottom to the bright tone of new grass at the top. The paint on the glass panes depicted branches heavy with leaves. Shasta opened the door, and a bell tinkled. Cool air, with a hint of evergreen and fruit, swirled around her.

  She paused, soaking in the sensation as her eyes took in the shop. Shelves stretching up to the ceiling lined the wall to her right. Hip-high tables stacked with goods filled the center space. The left wall had just as many shelves, but a large wooden counter blocked it off from customer access.

  Sitting atop the counter was a shallow dish of soil with the most peculiar piece of wood sticking out of it Shasta had ever set her eyes on. The bottom of the wood was flat and roughly the shape and size of a foot. It bent near one end, with an angle and form that resembled an ankle. Though small leaves blocked her from seeing any movable features, the upward sweep was most definitely that of a calf with vines encircling it. It ended right below the knee. Elves had tried making wooden prosthetics many times. Most of them had been flexible but lacked the versatility of the dwarves’ metal creations.

  An elf behind the counter flushed. Her blonde hair was braided into an intricate coronet. “I would get up to meet you, but—” She motioned at the pot.

  Shasta’s brows knitted. “I know we’ve met but can’t remember your name.”

  “Gwen.” The elf leaned across the counter, offering her hand. Her smile was a little forced.

  Shasta returned the firm grip and requisite two pumps of the handshake. She couldn’t help looking over at the pot and its contents. “As I recall, you were at the town meeting when we first arrived. You were one of the first people to come greet me.”

  Gwen pointed at the pot again. “It was behaving that day. Today it decided it was tired and a bit thirsty. Until it recovers, I’m afraid I can only help from here.” She gestured to where she was sitting.

  Shasta leaned against the counter. “So it really is a prosthetic?”

  Gwen nodded.

  “Can I examine—sorry.” Shasta took a deep breath. “What I mean to say is, I came in to look at your goods. I’ve heard you make delightful strawberry preserves, but I’ve never seen anything like this. Now, the dwarves make some amazing prosthetics, but this is a living one, right?”

  “Everybody here is used to it. I forget how novel it is to outsiders.” Gwen laughed a little.

  Shasta stiffened. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  Gwen lifted her hand dismissively. “No, you’re the first person to be interested in ages. I’d almost come to think wooden prosthetics were normal.”

  “I’ve been a few places and grew up in a fairly magical family, and I never heard of something like this.”

  “Come around. I’ll show you how it works.” Gwen grinned and pointed to the gap at the far end of the counter.

  Shasta returned her grin. As she circled the expanse of wood, Gwen gently set two fingers against the top of the foot. A little surge of elven power filtered through the air. “You had your pick-me-up,” she murmured. “It’s time to get to work,” Slender roots lifted out of the soil and curled around the foot, giving the appearance of sandal straps.

  Shasta perched on the stool next to Gwen.

  Gwen lifted the prosthetic out of the dish with one hand. With the other, she picked up a pitcher and poured water across the foot. The little bits of soil that had been clinging on were washed away. She gently set it on a towel and rubbed away the rest of the water. “Normal enough now, right?”

  Shasta nodded.

  “This is where it gets interesting.” Gwen set the prosthetic on a stool, reached down, and pulled up her left pant leg. She rolled it up until it was above her knee, revealing the slender stump that remained of her lower leg. She then slid a stretchy cloth over her leg before carefully fitting it into the top of the prosthetic. When Gwen seemed happy with the positioning, she touched a knot in the wood near her knee. Thick vine-like strands lifted off the body of the prosthetic and crawled up her leg. The vines twisted and rotated until they created an interwoven network that firmly settled against her skin. Then, her foot flexed.

  Shasta’s eyes went wide.

  Gwen smiled broadly. “I fiddled with the way it grows until I got enough range of motion to walk normally and run. It’s even attuned to me and will relay messages if I bump into something, so I don’t go tumbling quite as much.”

  “That’s incredible,” Shasta breathed. “Will it only work for you and elves? Or could you make it work for other people too?”

  “I’ve made them work for a few elves, but I suspect I could make something work with a fey. It won’t work well for someone who can’t communicate with it.” Gwen stood up and slowly walked toward Shasta. The ankle joint flexed and moved, giving her a completely natural gait.

  “Amazing.” Shasta stepped back into the central portion of the shop.

  Gwen picked up the
pace, and the wooden prosthetic continued to work flawlessly.

  “How long does it take to grow one?” Some of the dwarven prosthetics took years to assemble, which was a long time to wait. Though, Shasta doubted it would be quicker to grow a prosthetic.

  Gwen halted at the next display, her wooden toes just touching the table leg. She scooted her foot back. “It depends. Not all of them turn out, and different trees grow at different rates. This one is Applewood and took me two years.”

  “How many—”

  A distant scream floated into the shop. Shasta turned to the window, her right hand forming a loose fist. Out on the street, an elf dropped the parcel they were carrying and darted for the café’s door.

  Without a backward glance, Shasta rushed outside. She paused in the doorway just long enough to twist her wrist, summoning her sword. She looked up and down the street. To the right, nothing was amiss, but to her left, elves were scrambling. A gap formed in the crowd, and a large buck with a full rack lowered his head and charged.

  Shasta walked into the middle of the street, braced her feet, and lifted her sword. The buck continued to charge, rapidly closing the gap between them. Shasta held her ground, even as she could feel its hoof beats vibrating through the road.

  When it was almost upon her, she leaped to the side, sword extended, hand clenched around the hilt. The edge of the blade hit the buck’s shoulder, the force of the impact shuddering up the sword into her hand and arm. Instead of the expected deep laceration and spray of blood, it felt as though the sword caught on something and was being yanked from her hands.

  She tightened her grip and pulled at the sword. As the buck ran past, a shallow slice opened up along its inside from forequarters to haunches. All of a sudden, her sword was free, and she was stumbling back. She got it back up into the guard position and regained her footing. Normal deer didn’t have a hide that thick nor could their skin catch a sword.