A Flight of Fairies

A story for

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MNSDW001-09


"Master Grimbly, come quick!"

"Confound it! Nusiance of a boy. If I wanted my door pounded on day and night I would live closer to the village."

"Please, come help. Ma has a spell on her and won't wake up!"

"A spell you say? And what do you know of spells, boy? Hm? Why, I've a mind to spell you into a nice quiet mouse. Teach you what a spell is."

Connel blanched into a pale silence. His lip quivered and tears began to leak down his flushed cheeks.

"Your mother you say?"

Connel nodded.

"Well then, lead on, lead on. Don't interrupt and then keep me waiting," Grimbly said gruffly, his grip slipping somewhat on his irritation.

There was a small crowd of neighbors around Connel's house when he and Grimbly arrived. Fear and hope wrestled in their faces as they lapsed into an expectant silence at the wizard's approach.

"Master Grimbly," said a woman standing up as Grimbly entered the little hut. "It's my sister sir. She's so pale, for the life of me I don't know what's taken her, but she won't wake and—"

"Hush woman, I can't think with your chatter," said Grimbly. He stopped at the bedside, nose wrinkled at the poor hovel. He waved at the sister until she backed reluctantly away out of the light so he could study the woman who indeed lay pale and still on the bed.

She wasn't dead. That had been his first thought when the boy brought his news. He wouldn't have put it past these villagers to mistake death for some hopeful deep sleep, but not in this case. He sniffed the air and grimaced. The place reaked of cedar, any tell tale odor of some spell component was masked. So to a host of other evil odors from the look of the place.

"What did she eat?"

"Broth," answered the sniffling boy.

"Anything else?"

"Just her woman's herbs," offered the sister.

Grimbly took one look at the proffered jar of Lemon Mist and scoffed, "Rubbish." It was a rare herb and for that reason people thought it potent, but it added exactly nothing to any concoction.

"Where is your father, boy? Have you got one?"

The sister put her back up at such an indelicate question and found her voice and an indignant tone to season it. "Off at Lord Darwell's muster."

The wizard spared her no more than a grunt of acknowledgment. Curious. He couldn't think of what potion she might have drunk that would account for such unnatural slumber. To make a person sleep like this... Grimbly straightened suddenly and a satisfied gleam lit in his eye. He reined in any overt show of interest and assumed again his more familiar air of detached annoyance.

"Look under her pillow," he commanded.

Frowning, the woman gently lifted her sister's pillowed head. She gave a little gasp and turned wide eyes on the wizard who returned the look with a smug one of his own. Crushed beneath the pillow was a small, yellow flower.

"Agrimony," Grimbly named the flower with confidence, even though he couldn't see it from across the room. "Placed under the pillow, it causes a deep sleep until removed."

The woman stared from the flower to her sister to the wizard.

"Go on, pick it up," irritation was back in Grimbly's voice. "Hand it here. You won't fall over dead from handling it, woman. Foolishness."

She eyed it anxiously for a moment before knocking the menacing little flower onto the folds of her skirts and holding them out to Grimbly who snatched at the offering with undisguised disgust.

"Foolishness," he muttered again. Superstitious simpletons. It was a chore to have dealings with them.

"Who placed it there?" trembled a voice from the doorway.

Grimbly turned to see a slight young red haired man peeking in. The boy flinched under the wizard's scowl but didn't back away.

"That's my sister," he said by way of explaining his prescence, pointing feebly at the sleeping woman.

Grimbly twirled the flower, wondering himself who was responsible for its use. The flower itself was common, but its 'special' uses were not so well known.

Before he could speculate, though, Connel's mother woke in a fluster to find herself the center of such an unlikely group of visitors and the ensuing scene gave Grimbly an instant headache and drove him out and back to his own house in short order.

Two hours later, Grimbly was disturbed once again by a knock at his door. This time the rapping was quieter, less frantic and more respectful, and not quite so unexpected. Still, Grimbly mustered a massive sigh before stalking over to open the door. It was the red haired lad again, burdened with a basket of food, the usual payment for Grimbly's gruff aid when he rendered it.

"I... I wanted to thank you... and I also wanted to ask, Master... ask if you maybe know—"

"If I know how a sprig of agrimony came to lie under your sister's pillow, eh?" Grimbly cut off the boy's stammering rehearsed speech. Gods but it was a chore listening to other people struggling to put their thoughts into words. He doubted it would be much better if he had the miserable misfortune of being able to hear the thoughts directly. The very idea gave his stomach a nervous quiver. He took the basket of food, but for later. Dealing with these villagers put Grimbly off his appetite and that fact annoyed him as much as anything.

The boy nodded in answer to Grimbly's question.

"Was anything missing from your sister's house?"

The boy's eyes went wide and his mouth opened, neither of which added to the intelligence of his bearing in Grimbly's eyes. He thinks I can read his mind. Grimbly offered the boy a secret smile. You're an idiot, boy. Your whole village is a collection of mindless fools. There, can you read my mind? All the while Grimbly smiled at the boy, who returned an open look of incredulous wonder.

"Y-y-yes. Rinny's locket. It was our mother's. It's gone."

Grimbly grunted, unsurprised. He had mused on the peculiar incident all the way back to his house and had settled on the only logical conclusion he could reach.

"What's your name, boy?" he asked.

"Timlin," the boy gave a little shuffling bow along with his name.

"Well, Timlin, it's obvious to me that your sister has been victimized by a fairy." Grimbly paused to study the boy's reaction to that bit of news.

"A fairy?" A look of vague unease settled on the boy's face.

"That's what I said, boy. They know magic and they like to steal the odd trinket."

Timlin continued to gawk blankly as his mind struggled with the news of a fairy. Grimbly shook his head and began to close his door.

"But... but, what can we do?" stammered Timlin.

"Do? Do? What you can do is run on back home and tell everyone what I just said." Tell one woman and she'll gossip it to the rest of the village before nightfall.

"But... but, I mean about the fairy. We can't just let it get away," pleaded Timlin.

"Ah, boy," Grimbly laughed. Sometimes this rustic foolishness was quaintly amusing, he had to admit. "Fairies are liars and thieves and fiendish tricksters. You don't want to get mixed up with fairies, boy, you most certainly do not."

"But they stole," accused the boy and his tone named the wizard as an accomplice for not showing more concern.

Grimbly's demeanor cooled. He eyed the lad critically for a moment. "If you're such a one for rightous causes, why didn't you join Lord Darwell's muster, eh? Boy?"

Timlin stiffened.

"Now run along," barked Grimbly, shooing the boy away and shutting his door with a satisfying slam.

Timlin turned on his heel and stalked away, fists balled in rage. Angry as he was, he held his muttering until he was well out of hearing of the wizard's house. If he were a wizard, he would use his magic to help people like Rinny and would blast all fairies out of existence. He wouldn't be left behind when there was a muster, he would have magic to—

"Hello there," called a man from just out of sight of the wizard's house.

Timlin started. He had been so embroiled in his own thoughts, he hadn't noticed the man until he spoke.

"Hello," he said.

"Excuse me, but does a wizard live this way?" asked the man.

"Yes, Master Grimbly. I just came from his house."

A look of relief washed over the stranger's face and a weak smile found it's way onto his lips.

"My name's Wick, from on up the coast," he said by way of introduction, waving off to the north.

"I'm Timlin. What do you want with our wizard?"

"Ah, Timlin. Good to meet you. I'm afraid we've had some trouble my way with... well, it's hard to believe I know, but with fairies of all things—"

"Fairies? Us too. My sister had her locket stolen by one just last night."

Wick shook his head and massaged his temples as though the news pained him. "Ah, they are a plague now are they? Sweeping across the land, molesting innocent folk. Stole my dear mother's silver pin. A small bit to them. A trinket they can flit off with. But to my dear mother, a family heirloom, you know?"

"Yes. I wish there was something could be done about it," lamented Timlin.

"Oh, but I intend to," said Wick and purpose glimmered in his eyes. That glimmer sparked a hopeful curiousity in Timlin. Wick read it and smiled. Then he grimaced and bent over, his fist pressed at a spot in his gut.

"Are you alright?" Timlin asked with concern. The man looked pale. Rather like his sister had, come to think of it. Maybe he had been slept by a fairy as well.

"Yes, yes," Wick straightened with an effort and forced a pained smile. "I'll be fine. Look, I for one don't plan to take theft of family heirlooms lying down. I mean, a man, if he is a man, has to stand up for himself and, more importantly, his dear family. Am I right?"

Timlin nodded vigorously, feeling Wick's passion.

"I aim to take back what's mine from those fairies, and maybe, yes, why not? A little fairy gold to boot. That's only fitting, isn't it?" asked Wick.

"I... I didn't know they had gold," said Timlin.

"Gold? Sure. Loads of it. But it isn't that, not really. It's the principle, right? I mean, they think they're safe on their island, but—"

"Island?" Wick sure knew more about fairies than Timlin had ever heard.

"Yes, they live on an island kingdom out at sea. On a clear day you can see the glint from the ivory tips of the fairy castle towers."

Timlin could imagine it. Pale towers rising up from the edge of sheer rock cliffs, battered by pounding surf. Fairies flitting about, adding to piles of stolen gold and jewels.

"How would you get there? Are you a sailor?" asked Timlin.

"A sailor? Goodness no! Bobbing along in their wooden ships, tossing on the waves! No, no," Wick paused to rub irritably at his brow again. "I plan to fly there."

"Fly!?"

"That's right!" Wick's smile broadened at the amazed look on Timlin's freckled face. "Fly like fairies. In fact, just like fairies."

Timlin's expression was fading towards puzzlement now.

"Look, I wouldn't stand a chance walking into the fairy castle looking like a human, now would I?" Wick asked reasonably.

"No, I guess not, but..."

"Ah, but that's the trick, eh? I know how to concoct an elixir that will change a man into a fairy and back again," confided Wick.

"That's amazing," whispered Timlin. "Where did—"

Wick grimaced and massaged his gut in pain. "Look, I just need one more thing for the elixir. It's a rare herb, but I imagine a wizard should have it."

"Well, you can ask, but I don't think Grimbly will help. He said it's best to not get involved with fairies," Timlin said.

"Is that so?" Wick looked darkly up the path to the wizard's house. "Well he didn't have his sister attacked, did he? Didn't have a precious family heirloom stolen, did he?"

"No," agreed Timlin.

"Just a bit of Lemon Mist is all I need, and—"

"Did you just say 'Lemon Mist'?" asked Timlin.

"Yes," said Wick. "It's rare, but a wizard—"

"It's just that my sister actually has some of that," said Timlin quickly. "I... I'm not sure what she uses it for, but I know she has some."

"Really?" Wick gripped the boy's shoulders and shook him, physically tranferring his excitement. "That's wonderful! Oh, Lemon Mist has loads of uses. It's a powerful base ingredient—so I'm told. Do you... do you think you could get some? Just a bit? A pinch really, is all I would need."

"Sure. Um," Timlin hesitated a moment, thinking. "Would that be enough for two? For both of us, I mean?"

"Of course," said Wick seriously. "Of course. I wouldn't stand in the way of your revenge. Trust me, I understand."

Timlin nodded, but still thoughtful, uncertain. Faced with the actual prospect, Grimbly's advice, however rudely given, echoed in his head.

"You know fairies laugh at humans," said Wick quietly. "They play their tricks and laugh at human suffering. Nothing gives them more pleasure. They think they're clever and that the whole world exists for their amusement."

"Well they're wrong," snapped Timlin, done thinking.

"Lemon Mist then, lad. And the sooner the better," urged Wick. "Hurry back. I'll be here."

Timlin ran to his sister's house. No one was home so he grabbed some Lemon Mist—two pinches, just to be sure—and rushed off to meet Wick.

He found the man near where they had parted earlier. He was stirring a small pot. He took the Lemon Mist from Timlin and tossed it in straight away, all that he had brought. Timlin hoped it was enough. Wick looked pale and tight-lipped, like he was holding back some awful pain, so Timlin didn't bother him with a lot of questions.

"One last thing," gritted Wick as he stirred, "I need a bit of your blood." He pointed to a wooden bucket half full of water.

"Blood?" Timlin looked in the bucket and saw leeches. He paled.

"Just a bit," urged Wick. He pulled up a loose sleeve and showed a red welt on his own arm.

Timlin bit his lip. With a trembling hand, he plucked a leech from the bucket and plopped it onto his forearm as Wick had done. He felt queasy all over. He knew it was in his head, but that didn't make him feel any better. And when Wick plucked the little sucker off and tossed it straight into the pot, that didn't help much either.

Wick muttered under his breath as he stirred and Timlin wasn't sure if it was a spell or if he was just counting, but either way, he felt an expectant tension mounting. At last Wick announced the concoction ready, smiling weakly at Timlin. He filled two small bottles with elixir and cooled them in the leech bucket, causing Timlin's stomach another turn.

"Drink up," said Wick, handing off one of the bottles. "Only half, mind you. The rest you need to change back."

Timlin nodded, but eyed the bottle suspiciously. Wick didn't hesitate. He put his bottle to his lips and tipped it back. The change began immediately. He shrunk in size to less than a foot, his limbs became long and slender, his face delicate, ears sharply pointed, and the wings—he spread a pair of gracefull wings and floated experimentally off the ground. Wick smiled widely and winked at Timlin. Timlin shook his head in wonder. Summoning his courage, he drank down half of his elixir.

The change was the oddest feeling, but once in fairy form, Timlin felt natural. He found that he could flit about like he had been a fairy his whole life. Wick joined him in some experimental acrobatics around the camp, but then warned him that the effects would wear off in a matter of hours and that they had an ocean to fly across. With Wick in the lead, they flew towards the coast.

"How will we know where to go when we get there?" asked Timlin once he was over the initial thrill of flying.

"Don't worry about that," said Wick. "Let's just get there first."

At their new smaller size, flying wasn't actually a whole lot faster than walking. It took an hour to reach the coast. Timlin kept his eyes on the horizon, eager for a sight of the ivory towers of the fairy castle.

Being out over the sea was as new an experience as flying over the trees had been. The ocean rolled below him and he felt a little queasy in his stomach. After a while, that ill feeling spread to his head which began a hammering behind his eyes.

"Feeling a little sick, are you?" asked Wick, noticing Timlin's discomfort.

"Yes, I feel terrible actually. Is it the elixir?"

"Starting to wear off about now, I should expect," said Wick.

Timlin looked at his companion in alarm. Wear off? Wick was grinning at him and Timlin felt a new wave of nausea that had little to do with the elixir. He searched the horizon, but saw nothing in either direction now.

"What... what...," was all he could say through the pain.

"I know just how you feel," said Wick in mock consolation. "I was in agony back there outside the wizard's house. We'll see if you can hold on to your form as long as I mananged."

Timlin turned back for the coast and fought the transformation as long as he could. Fairy laughter hounded him though, and that awful sound was the last thing he heard before he drowned at sea.