Take Me Away

Chapter 1

 AN:  any bits of unknown language you see are either Celtic, Manx, or Elvish in origin.  If you would like to know what something means just ask :)

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  Ever since I can remember my grandmother has raised me.  Shortly after my birth, my mother, Kateryn,  went missing from our home in northern Maine.  From what I have been told, she put me down for a nap and then vanished without a trace. The police searched for a few months, but without any leads they quickly called off the hunt. All of her belongings were left behind, including me, and there weren't any signs of a struggle. 

  People thought maybe my biological father had something to do with it.  But the thing was, nobody even knew who he was.  Can't go after someone who might not exist. Whoever my father is, he was never in the picture, so my grandmother, Aedyt, took over raising me.  By then my grandfather had already passed, so it was just the two of us, and a spaniel named Agar.

  My grandmother was a willowy woman, small and slight.  She looked like she'd blow away in a strong breeze, but she had the grip and strength of a bear trap.

   Once when I was about five years old, a man challenged her to an arm wrestling match over a pound of fresh fruit.  My grandmother just smiled slyly at him, knowing ahe could beat him without even breaking a sweat.  After that, she turned into a well known hustler, everyone knew not to challenge her.  Once in a blue moon a tourist would fall into her trap though.

  Growing up without a mom was tough sometimes, but it was easier since I never really knew her.  From what I could tell, my grandmother raised me as well as, if not better than what my mother would have.  My childhood was pretty normal, aside from the disappearance of my mom:  Piano lessons three days a week, celtic tap lessons the other two, cooking together, and nightly bedtime stories.  Grandma also taught me how to ride a bike, how to sew, and about basic plants and herbs that were dangerous or not.  In her own way she was my mother.  The thing I loved most were her stories though.

  When I was eight years old, we started taking summer trips to her homeland on the Isle of Man, which is little island off the coast of the United Kingdom.  This was the time that she started teaching me everything about my ancestors and our heritage, traditions passed down through the generations.  Our family came from the county of Arbory, which was on the southern tip of the island.  By the time I was twelve we had seen the entire island many times over.  I had visited every tourist location, and every place only known to the locals.  We had many friends there, and everyone was happy to tell me as many stories and I could hear.  The history and legends fascinated me, especially the ones about faeries. 

  Faeries were said to be 'Fallen Angels.'  They created mischief upon unsuspecting humans.  Tricksters in their own right.  I saw them as magical creatures who just wanted to be seen.  They were lonely, kind of like me.

  I'm nineteen now and once again it's summer.  Late this afternoon we arrived at grandma's summer house in Arbory.  We are only here a few weeks out of the year, but it amazes me at how little this place changes when we are gone.  I take my bags upstairs to my room and throw open the windows.  For summer, the temperature only raises in to the mid 60s, which is pretty similar to the weather in Maine, if not a little colder. 

  The view from my room is fantastic; rolling green fields, and a view of the clear blue water of the harbor.  I wouldn't trade this for anything.  Sighing, I turn away and start unpacking.  Grandma had a few errands to run before we start making our rounds, so I want to be done by the time she returns.