WestFae: WestFae, #1

By KT Irons

WestFae - A New Young Adult Fantasy Series

Lou O'Connor's soul has been wounded many times over.

His father abandoned his mother, who then died giving birth to Lou.

The girl he loved married his best friend.

He has strange abilities that some might call a gift… but Lou calls a curse because they cost him his true love.

And, although he appears a perpetual 17 years old, he has been alive for more than 150 years... without a clue why.

Now, decades later in 1882, Lou feels compelled to return to the valley in the Colorado frontier that he'd once called home, but had fled from in grief and betrayal. He doesn't know why he feels so powerfully drawn. But he's had a strange, recurring dream that his true love needed him.

And then he saw the girl… Sixteen years old, with flowing auburn hair, hazel eyes—and the spitting image of the girl he had loved so many years before.

And she is in trouble. Her ranch—the one originally founded by Lou and his best friend—is the target of two cattle barons in a vicious range war.

A Powerful New Take on Fantasy Fiction Young Adult Readers Will Love

But Lou has a complication that he doesn't know about. Over two thousand years earlier, as iron weapons and armor had begun to engulf the old world in Ireland, the Fae chose to migrate to a New World across the western ocean.

However, a rogue Fae Lord chafes at the hidden, anonymous role that the Fae in the New World must fill. Now he plans an uprising to shift the balance of power. And, as part of that uprising, he intends to purge all human blood from the New World.

Lou unknowingly crosses paths with this Fae Lord, and, without understanding the depth of the conflict, must end it.

What begins as an attempt to save the ranch belonging to the granddaughter of Lou's once-best friend turns into a conflict that will determine the future of an entire continent.
WestFae is Book 1 of an epic new series of fantasy young adult readers will truly love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: KT Irons
• Release date: Jun 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224247813

KT Irons

KT Irons wrote his first novel at the age of 15 for a teenage novelist contest. He didn't win. Unfortunately, no copies of that novel survive. But the concept behind that novel still exists as an upcoming series. The WestFae series is actually the second series he started, but the first to reach publication. KT has been an accountant, a purchasing agent, an employment recruiter, the Director of a software development organization, and a social media marketer. He's finally settled on his love of writing. For fun, he's a musician. He performed a concert tour through Europe as a sax player and used to have a great singing voice. He's also an adventurer and has lived as a full-time RVer, traveling across the US Continent. He currently lives with his wife in Provo, Utah.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Compelled Home

Dingbat Diamonds

IT ALL BEGAN IN A BYGONE WORLD, on a lush, green island far across the eastern ocean. It was a world of grassy moors, craggy cliffs, and primeval forests. And in those days, an ancient race ruled the land. They made magnificent music, fought epic wars, told tall tales of mighty heroes, and danced merry dances. It was the monumental age of the Tuatha de Danann.

But wait... That’s too big of a story to tell. Let’s fast forward in time.

In the dawn of the new era, a vast new land stretched far and broad. It was a land of opportunity and freedom. There were none to oppress or make afraid. In a new colony—in a small village known as Boston—the land appeared wide and abundant. It was substantial enough not only for the humans who settled there but also for the other great race that sought an anonymous freedom in this new land of new beginnings.

But no... That’s still too much to tell.

Let’s begin this story with a horse–a majestic stallion.

This stallion was tall and uncommonly intelligent. He possessed, as needed, a swiftness that few horses could match. His coat gleamed black and shining, with a tint which, when viewed in the rising or setting sun, appeared to be a dark forest green. In fact, it was this tint that gave the stallion his name, Green.

No, this story isn’t about Green, but is rather about the man who was riding Green. His name was Lou O’Connor. He was a lithe, light-footed man, with pale skin despite the sun, and even paler strawberry-blond hair pulled into a long ponytail beneath his brimmed hat. He was young-looking, appearing younger than he actually was. He rode Green bareback, without a saddle or bridle. Oddly, instead of a gun, he carried a bow and arrows, with several bronze knives stashed in easy-to-reach places on his person. And though he was a naturally cheerful and good-natured man, he rode now deep in thought.

For he was riding now to a place he had once called home. As he rode his trusty steed through the familiar knolls and rolling hills, the memories of the valley he had once called HIS came flooding back to him. The last time he had been here, he had been brokenhearted and desperate to leave. But now, decades later, he returned with a sense of longing and a deep ache in his heart that had never fully vanished.

This search for his true identity had been a part of him for as long as he could remember. It fueled his every action and drove him to seek answers in all aspects of his life. As he rode through the familiar but vastly different countryside, he couldn’t help but consider the secrets it held about his past, and how they connected to the mysterious abilities that set him apart from others. These very abilities had cost him the love of his life, yet he couldn’t let go of them or the desire to understand their origin.

This was where he had spent decades, where he had first fallen in love, and where he had also been devastated and driven to leave. The pain had dulled over time, but it still lingered within him. At times, it would break through his happy facade and leave him lost in bittersweet memories.

But it was this unrelenting ache that fueled his purpose. For years, he had searched for answers about himself – who he truly was and what made him different from others. It was a journey that had taken him far and wide, but he was no closer to finding the truth. Yet, it was this quest that drove him forward in all other aspects of his life.

Lou stopped Green as they topped a rise and rounded the bend in the path. The rolling, grassy plain gradually shifted to a wide, sloping valley, rich with tall pine and fir trees. Off to his right was the tall mountain he’d once known simply as Tavakiev. He’d heard later that it was the tallest mountain in the territories of the United States–some had started calling it Pike’s Peak.

He wasn’t sure why he was returning here now, in 1882, decades after he had left. Only that he felt compelled to do so. In most of the years that he’d been gone, he had pushed thoughts of this place deep into the recesses of his mind. But over the last months, the dream had begun and then had persisted. He didn’t understand his dream but only knew that his Love needed him. But how could that be? Carla was surely old, or even dead by now.

But the dreams kept coming, and so Lou was now here, gazing down on the broad, wide valley he had once called home.

As he looked, he saw that there was a town here now. He could see the roofs of the houses, far down in the valley, where the valley floor turned arid–almost desert-like. And, across the valley, he saw the thick, leafy forest that he had so loved.

And where he had found the only woman he had ever loved.

That was then, and those were the thoughts and memories that pulled his mood pensive.

He gazed down at the rolling green valley, Green shifting restlessly beneath him. What do you say, Green? he asked, patting his steed on the neck. A flick of Green’s ears signaled impatience as he let out a snort and stamped his hooves. Lou chuckled and shook himself out of his reverie. Okay, okay. Let’s get going then. He nudged Green forward, and they began their descent into the valley below.

Dingbat Diamonds

GREEN CHOSE HIS WAY down the path through tall conifers that covered the sides of the broad, sloping valley. The trees became denser as they moved down until they gradually thinned again as they approached the last bench before the arid valley floor. Finally, they crossed the wooden bridge across the brook that marked the boundaries of the town. The tallest building he saw was a Hotel and Saloon.

Maybe we should stop there and get a feel for the lay of the land? he asked Green. Green snorted in agreement. Lou walked Green over to the hitching pole, not bothering to tie the stallion. You stay here and keep watch, Lou said. I’m going in to check things out. Green rolled his eyes.

Lou pushed through the creaking, saloon-style doors and was hit with the aroma of musty wood and perspiration. He scanned the crowded barroom, searching for a spot to sit and observe. His eyes landed on a secluded table in the corner, and he made his way towards it, careful not to bump into anyone on his way.

At another table in the center of the room sat a group of men. They had been doing some hard gambling and some equally hard drinking. One of them threw down his cards, standing up to shout in triumph and noticing Lou in the process.

Hey, kid! What’re you, some kinda injun? he asked drunkenly.

Oops, Lou thought. He had meant to slip by unnoticed but had apparently not engaged his glamour.

Not with that long, blond hair and blue eyes! another card player commented. How old are you, anyway, kid?

Lou shrugged nonchalantly, a small smile playing on his lips. These poor drunken fools never learned, did they? Ah, well... he couldn’t deny that he did, in fact, look like a kid instead of his actual age.

I don’t rightly know, he answered, his voice holding a hint of mystery. I was a foundling, so I’ve never quite been sure how old I am. He paused a moment, considering the question. But most folks tend to guess that I’m around 17 years old.

What’re you doin’ with that bow and arrow? a third blurted, with a gruff voice and disheveled appearance, eying the bow and arrow in Lou’s hand. The sunlight glinted off the smooth wood of the bow, highlighting its sturdy structure and expert craftsmanship. The arrows were carefully fletched and appeared to be well-worn from use. A tense silence hung in the air as all eyes turned toward Lou, waiting for an answer.

Lou fixed a dangerous gaze at this third gambler for a moment, then grinned and gestured with his bow. I don’t like guns, he said.

A man stood from a table back against the wall. Although he was not a big man, the force of his personality filled the room. His thick walrus mustache set him apart from the rest. Rockwell Davis stalked over next to the bar, and the rest of the room quieted.

Lou noticed that the gentleman walked with a rough confidence and seemed to take the deference given to him for granted. He wore a fancy suit, but wore it like he was new to wearing suits. The suit notwithstanding, he smelled of horse, trail dust, and tobacco. He walked over to the bar and took the drink that was offered without his asking.

In a rough, resonant voice he asked, Well, how in the world do you think that you are going to make it in the West without carrying a gun? He had a disdainful air about him as if the right to teach a kid a lesson was nothing more than his due. He took one last gulp of his whiskey, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. Then slowly, deliberately he placed the now empty tumbler on the worn wooden bar. He may or may not have been about to draw, but his right hand was moving closer to his gun.

The attention of everyone in the room was focused on the bow in Lou’s left hand, so the bronze-bladed knife caught them completely by surprise. Between one breath and the next, Lou’s right hand flashed forward. The knife caught Rockwell’s right sleeve and pinned his arm to the bar. A single drop of blood welled from a hair-width scratch on Rockwell’s wrist.

The men watched in shocked silence as Lou stepped forward, hand outstretched for his knife. Eyebrows raised, and with a wry grin, he said, I think I’ll manage. Then, he pulled the knife from the bar. Put a little tincture of arnica on that scratch, and it’ll be just fine, Lou commented with a smile, tapping the brim of his hat with two fingers as he left. As he turned to leave, Lou noticed Rockwell Davis’s head tilted in consideration.

Lou walked down the boardwalk and heard the expected comment from one of the original drunken men he had just left. Did you see that? I ain’t never seen nuthin’ that fast before. He’d have had you, Mr. Davis.

With a sigh, Lou glanced at Green. Is today a Wednesday? he asked. Things like this always seem to happen on a Wednesday. The horse just rolled his eyes and shook his head. Lou continued down the boardwalk.

Dingbat Diamonds

LOU HEARD STEPS BEHIND him and looked to see Davis following him.

Listen, kid, Davis said without preamble. Are you as good with that bow and arrow as you are with the knife?

Better, Lou replied shortly, wondering where this was going.

Have you ever actually shot anybody with that thing?

What do you think?

Well, I’m Rockwell Davis. I own the biggest ranch in these parts. I want you to come work for me.

Doing what? Lou asked.

Whatever needs to be done, Rockwell answered, with a smile that bordered on a smirk.

Ah. That was very clear. Lou smiled. Thank you for the offer, he said. I’m just passing through.

Rockwell’s face twisted with displeasure at Lou’s refusal. His deep, gravelly voice growled out a warning, his eyes flashing with determination and anger. Think carefully about how you answer, he growled. There’s a brutal range war going on here. When it’s all done, only one side will win. You don’t want to be on the other side. I still say I can use you. Do you want to reconsider?

Despite the threatening tone, Rockwell’s words were tinged with a stark intensity, as if he knew that losing this battle could mean losing everything.

Lou thought a moment, then shook his head slightly. Thank you again, but as I said, I don’t intend to be here very long.

Rockwell grumbled, obviously not pleased. Very well, then, he said. "Just you be careful who you associate with while you’re...passin’ through." He stalked off.

Well, now, Lou said, nodding in Green’s direction. That was interesting. Green snorted derisively.

Dingbat Diamonds

LOU DECIDED THAT IT would be worth learning more about this range war. He found an unobtrusive place in the shadows, where he could lean against a building and will himself to go mostly unnoticed.

He knew that people who passed by likely wouldn’t notice him unless he moved. He stood still and watched as life happened in the town. He just wanted to know what the situation was in the town now that he was coming back as an outsider.

Lou’s feelings were conflicted. This valley had been his home. Yet, it wasn’t his home anymore. Nostalgia, wonder, and disappointment warred within him as he looked out at what had once looked so familiar and yet was now so very different. The meadow where he had once shot arrows with his Ute friend was now the livery stable. The clearing where the council fire had burned was now the dry goods store. It pulled at his emotions in ways that, though not entirely unfamiliar, caused a pang nonetheless.

It wasn't a large town–maybe 20 or so business buildings. But the town was on a route that was now traveled frequently. And, while small, the town appeared to have enough outside traffic to support a good number of businesses. There were not only travelers passing through but also now several farms and ranches that hadn’t been there when he had lived in the area before. They also depended on the town for supplies and contributed to the ongoing traffic.

And there was the mining. The main gold rush of the 1850’s had played itself out, but there were still ongoing residual activities from that time. Freight wagon trains wove from the hills and mountains, where the mining and primary refining was done, through the town. They supplied up in Colorado Springs before moving onto the wagon train roads heading east.

But mining didn’t outstrip the cattle ranches. The Colorado Springs valley was a rich area for cattle. As people passed Lou’s watching spot, the conversations were rich with discussion about the cattle ranches in the area and the range war that had sprung up among three of the key players.

With cattle, two things were critical. The first was land—and not just any land. Grazing land was the key factor in determining what land was sought after by the ranchers. But not just any grazing land would do. Water was the second critical thing for cattle. If water was too far from the grazing land, the cattle would walk off valuable pounds of beef getting from one to the other. And the cattle ranchers were paid by the pound when they sold their cattle. So, the best land was grazing land with water near at hand.

The first player in this range war was Rockwell Davis, the gentleman whose acquaintance Lou had made in the saloon. Rockwell owned the largest cattle ranch, the Flying D. He owned more head of cattle and more acres of land than any other rancher in the area.

And he wanted more of both. He was gobbling up the smaller ranches as quickly as he could, using just about any means that seemed convenient in each case.

The second player was a relative newcomer to the area named Alastar Bradan. No one knew very much about Alastar and his past. He kept pretty much to himself.

Interestingly, although he had a few tens of thousands of head of cattle, he didn’t seem to be nearly as committed to expanding everywhere as Rockwell was. His land objectives were more focused. But everyone who Lou overheard seemed to have a similar opinion. Although Rockwell Davis was making the most noise and acting the most aggressively, Alastar Bradan was the most dangerous.

And people couldn’t exactly describe why. The most prevalent description Lou heard anyone say was, I don’t know, there’s just something about him. He gives me the willies!

Things had come to a head when both Rockwell and Alastar had set their sights on the same land—the H Bar H ranch. When Lou heard someone refer to the H Bar H as the Hart Homestead, it all made sense to Lou, who was very familiar with the Hart Homestead.

The Hart Homestead had been the first area in the Colorado Springs valley to be settled by anyone other than the Utes in recent centuries. It was the prime land in the valley, having both water and grazing land nicely coexisting side-by-side. It was a beautiful plot of land and was well suited to any number of different uses.

In fact, Lou had been one of the two men who had settled the Hart Homestead a very, very long time ago.

As it was, the Hart family and their hands were barely hanging on, barely holding off two parties who both seemed as if they would stop at nothing to get possession of the Hart land.

Throughout the town, it was clear that the population was lining up and taking sides. The opinions expressed by the people swirled up through the dust kicked up by the horses, teamsters, and wagons. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and it seemed as though a mere spark would light it up like a powder keg.

Dingbat Diamonds

A BUCKBOARD PASSED Lou’s position, driven by one man and flanked by several riders on horses. One of the riders was a girl–or perhaps, a woman. She was young, but her men listened to her with respect and took their direction from her. She looked to be about 16 but carried herself with all the assurance of a woman who was used to getting things done.

Lou’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, though he otherwise wouldn’t have given a second thought. Her auburn hair fell in gentle waves beneath a western hat with the tie under her chin. She was dressed in a vest and matching working skirt–split and connected in the middle to allow her to ride. She carried a rifle prominently in its holster on her saddle and appeared to be very comfortable with having it there.

The sun caught the highlights in the girl's hair, making it gleam. Her skin was tanned and freckled, adding to her rugged appearance. She exuded a sense of confidence and capability.

He caught a whiff of her scent, a comfortable, familiar fragrance of sandalwood and wildflowers, with just a touch of sweetness to it, like honey or vanilla. Lou paused, puzzled and remembering.

The scent lingered in the air like a sweet and warm blanket, enveloping him in memories of cozy winter nights and the comfort of familiar love. His mind raced to place the exact fragrance until he finally remembered it: a distant memory now brought to the forefront of his mind by this woman.

As she rode by, the sun illuminated her features, her long, wavy hair swaying in the breeze behind her. Her gaze met Lou’s and the intensity of the moment caused his breath to catch in his throat, as he finally saw her face clearly. The world seemed to fade away as their eyes locked and all that could be heard was the soft clip-cop of the horse’s hooves. Time seemed to stop as she rode past.

No, he whispered to himself. It can’t be. She’s dead.

Chapter 2

The Girl

Dingbat Diamonds

Lou – Moments Later

Dingbat Diamonds

LOU STOOD, STUNNED, and a bit gobsmacked.

Looks like we got some company, mused the bartender as he stepped out to join Lou, wiping his hands on a rag. In his observation earlier, Lou had learned his name was Hank.

Lou’s attention was fixed on the young woman astride the mare. Although she was young and slim, she rode with a commanding presence, her men flanking her in a protective formation. But it wasn’t her posture that had struck Lou silent; it was her face, which bore an uncanny resemblance to Carla, the woman whose memory still haunted his dreams.

Know ‘em? Hank asked, eyeing Lou’s reaction with curiosity.

Can’t say that I do, Lou replied, though his voice lacked conviction.

That’s the bunch from out at the H Bar H ranch, Hank explained. You can see how they’re armed for bear and ridin’ like they’re expectin’ trouble. It’s not unlikely, either, with both Rockwell Davis’ and Alastar Bradan’s men in town.

Lou barely heard the bartender’s words. His mind was a tumult of memories and questions. Images of Carla’s gentle smile mingled with what Lou saw now of this young woman. It was impossible, he thought. Carla had been his first love decades ago. Her laughter, her warmth, and her tenderness were all echoes of a distant past that he had long since accepted would never return.

Yet, the likeness between Lou’s Carla and this young woman was stunning. She reined in her horse with an easy grace, dismounting fluidly in front of the general store. Her men did likewise, spreading out subtly–their hands never straying far from the revolvers at their hips.

Who’s the girl? Lou couldn’t help but murmur, more to himself than to Hank.

That’s Melissa Hart, said Hank, his gaze following the woman as she spoke briefly with her men and then entered the store. On paper, her old aunt Polly is the boss there at the H Bar H. But the men all look to Melissa for direction. Interestin’, seeing how young she is.

Lou did some counting in his head. Not Carla’s daughter–too much time had passed for that. Carla’s granddaughter, perhaps?

With each step that Melissa took, Lou felt an unexplainable pull, a connection that defied logic and time. The woman’s resemblance to Carla was uncanny, from the curve of her jaw to the way her auburn hair fell in soft waves beneath her hat. Even the way she moved echoed Carla’s gentle confidence.

Will you look at that, Hank chuckled, breaking Lou’s trance. Rides like a man but walks like an angel straight outta heaven.

Perhaps, Lou said quietly, his mind racing. He needed to know more about her, needed to understand this mystery that fate had so unexpectedly thrown into his path. Was it merely coincidence or was there some deeper meaning to her arrival?

Where ya off to in such a hurry? Hank called after him as Lou pushed off from the post and made his way toward the general store.

Got some business to attend to, Lou called back, not slowing his pace.

Lost in thought, Lou strode purposefully down the boardwalk in the direction of the girl’s group. As he reached the general store, Lou sauntered inside. His gaze wandered over the various supplies and goods for sale, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of the mysterious girl and his own errands for the day. After all, he had some supplies he wanted to pick up, anyway.

The young woman and her men had purchased their supplies and were headed out to the boardwalk to begin loading them up. Standing there, though, was a tough heavy and his two men. They were standing, arms crossed and scowls on their faces, clearly not intending to allow the girl and her men to leave with their supplies.

The heavy was a squat man, gnarled and with the beginnings of a hunchback. He wore a thick, heavy duster with a black Stetson pulled low over his eyes. When he spoke, Lou thought, it sounded like gravel rumbling around in the bottom of a pan. As the breeze wafted in Lou’s direction, the man’s scent was earthy and stark, like damp clay after it’s been worked in your hands.

The air was thick with the weight of an ongoing argument, which appeared to be a continuation of many that had come before.

Mr. Jones, Melissa Hart was saying, standing with her feet spread and fists on her hips. I have told you many times that my grandfather was one of the founders of this town. Thomas Hart acquired our land legally according to the provisions of this territory. You have no legal grounds to prevent us from shopping at this store.

Well, little lady, replied the tough—apparently Mr. Jones. Mr. Alastar Bradan says what is the law around here now. He has tried to be reasonable with you. But as long as you stay on that piece of property, Mr. Bradan has decreed that you may not shop in the store that he acquired legally and lawfully, and is now the full owner of.

I’ve told you before that I don’t know how legally Mr. Bradan acquired the store, retorted the girl. But that doesn’t matter. My family has lived in this valley and has been shopping at this particular store since before you were here. We will take these goods that we have purchased. We will load them on our buckboard, and we will take them to our ranch, where we will continue to live for many years to come.

Interesting, Lou considered. He could see that this would go nowhere good, fast. An idea occurred to him. This will be tricky, he thought. Lou took a few seconds to gather what he needed.

Listen, miss, Jones had been saying outside. If we have to, we’ll get rough. We’re not supposed to allow you. . . .

Lou walked through the door, his arms loaded head-high with supplies. He appeared not able to see where he was going, Lou stepped right into Wes Jones’ back, which toppled Jones into his two armed men. All three men toppled forward into the muck, where the dirt street met the boardwalk. Curiously, Lou hadn’t fallen in the muck.

Lou was in the midst of the men, apologizing and helping them to get up. Oh, sirs, he said. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t see where I was going. I apologize. I never intended...here let me help you up. We’ll get that gunk brushed off of you. You’ll be good as new.

No one noticed that the supplies Lou had been carrying were now in the back of the buckboard.

As he talked, Lou was working the men closer and closer to their horses. Here, we’ve got you almost brushed off. Let me help you up here. Careful of your boot in the stirrup, there.

Lou had gotten most of the men on their horses and pointed in the direction Lou wanted them to go and was working on Jones. There you are, sir, he said, brushing off Jones’ duster, Let’s get this last bit off, and you’ll be right as rain.

Jones brushed Lou’s hands away from him with a huff and grumble. With a glance at Lou and another at the young woman, Jones put on his hat and turned as if to leave. Suddenly, lightning fast, he spun back and Lou felt a fist connect solidly with his