I wake in the fading dark. Stretching and yawning, I head outside. Knees bend, tensing- I let go of the ground all at once, spiraling upward into the mystical depths of yet another beautifully unusual sunrise. Within the clouds, thousands of feet above the Earth, are rods of golden and flaming orange light- I’ve seen them before. They are hot, but I press one to me in a kind of dance, closing my eyes and forgetting gravity and all sense of direction. It makes a sort of electronic singing noise, and peering close, I see that it is some kind of message carrier. Curiosity aside, I know I have no legitimate reason to snoop in someone’s mail, so I let it go, and the rod zooms across the sky with the rest, keeping hidden from the unknowing populace in the thick morning clouds. After awhile, the chill repairs me to continue my journey, further down. Through bogs and swamps and hilly forests and somber valleys I race, till I come to a beautiful wooden bridge overlooking a glistening river- no cars, just people. Walking. I light like a fairy on the edge of the forest and watch the people strolling by, unheeding of life’s worries, if only for the moment. If I could read their minds like Syca, maybe I could truly share in their happiness. As it is, I am too busy preparing for today’s work. This beautiful venture is just a warm-up-- a flight to prepare me for another day of fighting crime. I walk over to the bridge and sit down, trailing my feet in the water. I wish I could just put down my job for a minute. Walk among these people as if I were one of them. The times I do that, though, bad stuff happens. More bad stuff than usual. It seems to be the curse of those who know the true dangers of the world- whether Reality or Imagination- to forever be fighting them. Once you see the fabric of the universe, you can’t very well waltz happily over it, knowing there are dangerously widening holes. You are forever fighting entropy….
Meh. This trail of logic is depressing. I think I’ll go get an ice cream.
I walk over to the musical cart set up in the park, and fish out my new debit card. “Now…how do I work this thing--” when a scream emits from the forest I just flew over. I rush back, dropping the card in my haste, and running through the trees, call out, “Is somebody here? Are you hurt?” I stop. Under my foot squishes a strange purple lily. I bend down and pick it up. Feeling stupid, and wishing I had some sort of tracking sense, I step forward hesitantly. “Hello?”Suddenly, a twig snaps behind me, and I whirl to find- a little girl.
“You found my flower!” she cries happily, reaching out.
“Oh,” I reply, handing her the slightly crumpled lily. “Were you the one that screamed?”
“Oh, no, no!” she replies hastily. “That was my- my cousin. We were playing hide-and-seek, and he thought he saw a bear. He’s a coward.” She smiles, and runs off toward the park, and I shake my head in bewilderment.
“Children...” I glance down at the forest floor, and then peer back for closer scrutiny- there do, indeed, appear to be some sort of large tracks here…but not bear tracks. Nothing like bear tracks. I follow them with my nose to the ground, humming a little, for it is a bright and sunny day now, and I don’t have to get back to the base until ten, by my own schedule. May as well sort out this mystery. The further I get into the forest, the darker and denser the foliage grows, until I am forced to fly yards above the dense clusters of brambles, peering intently for signs of the animal’s trail. As I go along, I start to here a faint whistling tune…
And, emerging upon a weedless field of wheat, I behold a little cabin built into the side of a tree, a giant redwood, in the center of an open space. “Hello?” I call, and immediately the singing ceases. “Is anyone at home? I don’t want to frighten you- I just had a question, I don’t mean to be a bother or anything, but if you’re here, I’d like to talk to you—” a shadow moves behind the house. I creep closer and peer around the side- on a small wooden bench lie a basket of herbs, a can of peas, half- shelled, and a long, intricately carved walking stick. And, there, along the wall of the cabin, are blooming a plot of the strange, purple flowers. I reach out to touch one, when a rough voice cries from behind me-
“PLEASE!” I turn to find a tall, grizzled old man wrapped in thin rags of fur glaring down at me. He is standing at the edge of a cleverly hidden platform, tied round the waist of a tree with vines. It appears to be a hunting stand. The man, with a knobby hand on the string of a worn bow, cries, “Step AWAY from the flowers, lass!”
“I-I’m sorry, sir, I wasn’t going to pick them or anything, I was just curious--” Looking at the man, I see that his feet, below the rags, are almost like the hooves of a Faun. That explains the odd tracks. Turning back to the flowerbed, I ask, “What are they, exactly? They’re not from around here…”
“No,” sighs the old man, lowering the bow and climbing wearily down from the tree. “No, they’re not. I’m sorry to frighten you, lass. I couldn’t risk their safety, not when one of their sisters has already been killed.”
“Killed! Then- these aren’t just flowers? But, the little girl I met in the forest had one of them. Why didn’t you stop her?”
“I was out gathering herbs from the west fields. By the time I heard the Lileth screaming, it was too late. Their spirits are delicate, and cannot survive being moved from their place of origin while in that form. I couldn’t blame the girl- she is young, and innocent- and, what’s more, human beings have always been a clumsy and nosy race, blundering into other’s forests where they shouldn’t be looking…I should have moved the Lileth as soon as they started moving in.”
“Now, sir, I think you misjudge my race. Not all of us are so brash. Curiosity can be a good thing, too.”
“Oh, I meant you no insult, lady lass. But, I am a Protector, and it falls hard upon me when I fail in my duty. And- you must understand. Your aura- I can tell that you, too, guard. I watched you. The way you ran after that child when you thought she was hurt…”
“There is nothing else I could’ve done.” I protest, but he raises his hand.
“You could have run away.”
“Yes, I suppose, but- what if she had been hurt! I would have to live with the knowledge that I did nothing to save her, the rest of my life. Opportunities to help do not appear for no reason.”
The old Faun smiles, centuries of laughter crinkling up around his eyes.
“No, I don’t suppose they do. I also noticed that you have some flight ability. Are you by any chance descended from elves?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” I reply, “At least- not that I know of. But I have met and danced with a few of the Fairy Folk, and found them quite an agreeable sort.”
“Ah,” the man sighs. “Well, I had hoped that, perhaps, you might be able to help me. As you said, no opportunity appears without reason. You see,” he continues, tottering over to the bench, “The Lileth were once lithe and graceful fairies, the last of a wise and venerated race of near-immortals. As often happens, the jealousy of a mortal- a dark witch, whose death caused nothing more than the breath of an echo in history- cursed them into this form with a strong enchantment. Over the centuries, the spell has faded. The Lileth are now able to resume their true form at night. They cannot fly, though, and they long to see the moon beyond the thick boughs of the trees which shelter them from prying eyes. I hoped that the magic of another fairy might cure them, but since I took upon my role as protector, when my successor died, I have seen none of the Folk. Nor have I been able to reach them through others of the enchanted races. I am cut off from my kin, here at the edge of human lands.” His voice, like his body, is worn with the years of solitude he took on himself in his guard of silent, ancient beings. Still, I might lift it…
“But I do know magic, Sir Faun!” I cry. “Not perhaps the ancient rites of the elves, but I can heal wounds and lift many an enchantment with the flow of projective energy. I was taught by a friend.”
“Without knowing the true process of the Art? It sounds dangerous...” The Faun looks doubtful, but I can see hope beginning to light in his eyes, and I press on.
“Sir Faun, you are wise to doubt the words of a complete stranger, but if as you say my Aura labels me a protector, than you know my attempt to heal the Lileth, if it does no good, can at least mean them no harm. After all these centuries of hoping for a cure, you owe it to them to at least try…” The old faun sits down heavily and reaches an arm out to the flowers, stroking them gently.
“Very well.” He replies after a long silence. “They have been captive for so very long…”
“Good,” I smile, rubbing my hands together and crouching in front of the flowers. It is the greatest joy of my job. To heal, to bring good, when so much of my life is taken up with fighting and punishment of evil…it is a form of renewal.
I press the palms of my hands lightly on the ground, feeling the path of the roots below it, feeling the breath of the flowers as they photosynthesize, exhaling oxygen…
I sing a few bars of a Celtic chant a friend taught me long ago:
“Shi Ri Soiu Sha…” which means, Seek Ye The Light. The stems of the flowers stir: eyes grow from the petals, lips and teeth pushing their way out of an almost two-dimensional existence. When I am done with my makeshift medicine, seven tall elves stand before me, breathing in the sight of the wood, rubbing their velvet limbs into colour once more.
I exchange farewells with the Faun, and happily glide back into the park- where I discover an acne-covered teenage boy trying to pass my debit card off as his to the ice cream man.
