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    Shaylee Druid's Daughter
    Shaylee Druid's Daughter
    Shaylee Druid's Daughter
    Ebook96 pages1 hour

    Shaylee Druid's Daughter

    By Bret Jordan

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Something is unusual about Shaylee. She sees the forest and its creatures differently than other folks. This ability makes her shunned in the village and puts an edge of fear into her father, but one person understands her, her new friend, Oran. Together they will learn about her newfound abilities and about one another as well.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPurple Sword Publications
    Release dateAug 20, 2009
    ISBN9781936165117
    Shaylee Druid's Daughter
    Author

    Bret Jordan

    Bret Jordan has lived in Southeast Texas all his life. He is married and has four children, girls with an array of personalities that often boggle his mind. By day he programs computers and by night he works as a freelance artist. When not working, drawing, or spending time with his family, he reads and writes stories of horror and dark fantasy. On summer weekends he can often be found running his motorcycle down the roads of East Texas.

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      Book preview

      Shaylee Druid's Daughter - Bret Jordan

      This publication is protected under the US Copyright Law and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights: you are not allowed to give or sell this publication to anyone else. If you received this publication from anyone other than PurpleSword.com, or Purple Sword Publications, LLC’s authorized third party resellers, you have received a pirated copy. Please contact us at our website at www.PurpleSword.com and notify us of the situation. Piracy robs authors and publishers of potential royalties.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.

      SHAYLEE DRUID’S DAUGHTER

      Copyright © 2009 BRET JORDAN. All rights reserved worldwide.

      ISBN 978-1-936165-11-7

      Cover Art Designed By Anastasia Rabiyah

      Edited By Traci Markou

      Published by Purple Sword Publications, LLC

      www.PurpleSword.com

      Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

      Shaylee

      Druid’s Daughter

      By

      Bret Jordan

      For my daughters:

      Magen, Mallorie, Natalie, and Amber.

      May you keep the innocence of childhood as long as you can

      because once it’s gone it can never be reclaimed.

      Leaves crunched under Shaylee’s feet as she skipped through the forest. To her left, a pair of robins hopped through the limbs of an oak in a playful dance. The smaller of the two jumped and chirped then jumped again. The other followed. Shaylee assumed that the smaller and less colorful bird was the female and named her Myrtle, the male she called Tymin—names that would only last until the birds were out of her sight. Still, she felt that they needed a name if only for a short while.

      Shaylee smiled and wished she could join them in their game. She couldn’t fly, but that didn’t stop her from imagining she could as she reached down and picked up a dry branch. She pulled the firewood to her chest and skipped to the next leaf-covered limb, pretending to be a butterfly dancing among the flowers. The ground around each crusty branch became a beautiful flower, the branch a stamen, the part of the flower that butterflies craved. As she drew the branches to herself she imagined her wings swishing back and forth to the beat of a slow song. She skipped from branch to branch until her butterfly stomach was full and her arms could hold no more firewood. She sighed; the game was over.

      As she took her first step, a new game came to mind. She pretended she was a golden bee returning to her hive, arms laden with pollen. She clenched her teeth and buzzed. With a giggle at her own silliness she jogged toward home in wide zig-zags, buzzing and laughing with each step.

      Shaylee loved the forest. Every smell, whether it was the sweet odor of honeysuckle or the acrid smell of loam, filled her with comfort and peace. Bird song was a music that no man-made instrument could equal. Squirrels scampering along the ground or racing up a tree brought her joy that only a toddler’s older sister would understand. Butterflies were as unique as snowflakes, and flowers held more beauty than gold. Creek water tasted finer than honey-milk and blackberries sweeter than sugar biscuits. The woods were Shaylee’s domain, a place filled with magic and wonder that she witnessed every day in every part of her being. She absorbed it all as naturally as a sponge absorbs water, saturating herself in its wild glory and raw beauty. It had been a part of her since birth and she, a part of it.

      Zig-zagging through the woods none of these things occurred to her. She didn’t analyze her relationship to her surroundings, it just was.

      Within moments, the ground began to decline toward the creek bottom. Shaylee stopped and listened for the gurgle of water as it poured over the rocks on its quest for lower ground. The sound washed over her like a lullaby. She closed her eyes and saw tiny bubbles and distorted rocks, a leaf riding the current like a tiny boat caught in a wave.

      A mewling shattered the calm.

      She opened her eyes, cocked her head, and listened for the strange sound. It was barely audible over the gurgle of water, but it was there. She had never heard anything like it, the buzz of a mosquito and the cry of a wild cat with a touch of wind whistling through the forest. It grasped her spirit and filled her with worry and desperation—an alien call for help in a language that could only be understood empathically.

      Shaylee dropped the branches. They landed on the brittle leaves around her feet with the sound of a blacksmith’s hammer striking an anvil. She cringed and turned, hoping to pinpoint the direction of the sound.

      It came from everywhere. No matter which direction she turned the noise never grew louder. She closed her eyes and concentrated, focusing on the sound, blocking out all other distractions. It washed over her in waves of sorrow and whispered to a place deep inside her, a spot she didn’t know existed. She let it in and gave it access to her spirit, taking the fear and pain into herself. Within moments it had consumed her, filling her with desperation. Something suffered nearby, afraid, alone and pleading for help. A tear collected at her lashes and rolled down her cheek. I want to help you, but I need to know where you are first, she whispered.

      With the sound of her voice came a realization. She put her fingers in hear ears and listened. The pleas were as strong as ever. What she heard wasn’t a noise, but a voiceless calling. It bypassed her ears and cored into her mind. The realization would have been enough to terrify most little girls, but Shaylee wasn’t any little girl. Something was hurt, possibly dying, and she wouldn’t ignore that, no matter how odd its pleas for help might be.

      With lips and eyes closed tight, she cleared her mind and focused on the calling. The gurgle of the stream vanished. The odor of honeysuckles faded to nothing, and the cool wind that carried the sweet smell no longer tickled her skin. Her feet moved though her eyes remained shut. She walked along the decline parallel with the creek like a sleepwalker. The world had vanished. Only the

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