by JL Bryan
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Aoide watched as a large willow-leaf basket resembling a bird’s nest descended slowly, hanging from four vines. Garalt looked at Skezg.
“You might be a little big for our village,” he said. “Luckily, we keep a patch of shrinkgrass for visitors, if you don’t mind...” Garalt plucked a grainy stalk from a patch of tall, very thick grass. “It will make your visit more comfortable.”
The big ogre sniffed the shrinkgrass. “Do I get to eat it?” he asked.
“Please,” Garalt said.
Skezg stuffed the grainy shrinkgrass into his mouth, chomped it a time or two, then slurped it down his gullet. “Can I have more?”
“Not unless you want to be a pocket ogre,” Garalt said.
Skezg grew shorter and thinner until he was the size of a fairy.
“Everything’s so big!” the ogre squeaked.
Garalt helped Aoide and Rhodia step into the basket, and Neus and Skezg climbed in after them. Garalt flexed his wings and flew along beside them.
They reached a platform where a number of younger fairies were gathered. They were only a few centuries old, with intense and vibrant marking on their wings. They chatted and whispered excitedly as the four outsiders stepped out of the platform to join them.
“Where are you from?” one asked.
“What’s happening in the city?” asked another.
“It’s not polite to pepper guests with so many questions,” Garalt said.
The fairy village welcomed them, and soon Aoide and her friends found themselves seated at a long table in the dancing hall, which Garalt explained was the center of local entertainment and feasts, as well as government when necessary.
Platters of food were laid out—tender water lilies, glowing sunflower petals, ultrasweet snackberries, and of course fresh-picked muffins and cakes. Dew water and flower nectar were served in green pitcher plants. A number of elder fairies of the village sat across from them.
Garalt sat between Aoide and Rhodia. He took a golden lily from a platter and slid its stem into Rhodia’s long, pink hair.
“There,” he said. “That looks lovely.”
“Ew, don’t put food in my hair!” Rhodia said. She dug out the flower and laid it on the table.
Musicians arrived on the stage at the end of the hall—a banjo-picker, a lutist, a fiddler, a bell-ringer, a harpist. Some fairies danced in rows as they played. Aoide watched the male lutist with a mixture of jealousy and sadness. She missed her lute.
“We understand you are musicians as well,” said a beautiful elder fairy. She had long silver hair and faded blue markings on her wings.
“Yes,” Aoide said. “Unfortunately, our instruments were stolen.”
“Oh, what bad luck,” the elder fairy said. “Did it happen in the Hauntlands?”
“No, it was back home in Sidhe City.”
“Bad luck, truly,” agreed an elder male fairy with fading red wings.
“They were taken off to man-world somewhere,” Aoide said. She told them about Hoke the Swamp Elf and his unicorn, and their failed attempt to recover the instruments. “And that’s why we’re here. We heard that banshee wolves are the best at tracking magic. So we came to ask...you, I suppose...whether a wolf might help us.”
“Banshee wolves are wild animals,” said the elder fairy with red wings.
“But I read that clan Caomhánach has a special friendship with the banshee wolves,” Aoide said. “And Garalt seemed in control of those who attacked us.”
“You told them you control the wolves?” asked an elder female fairy with golden wings.
“No, they simply assumed so,” Garalt told her.
“We do not control them,” the female elder with the blue wings said. “We do live in peace with them. They may alert us about intruders and outsiders, as they did today.”
“Could we ask for the help of a wolf?” Aoide asked.
Some of the elders whispered to each other.
“We do not know if this is possible,” said the one with the golden wings. “But we do invite you to eat and rest with us after your long journey.”
“Oh, but I beg you!” Aoide said. “We need the help!”
Garalt elbowed Aoide and gave her a warning look.
“Pleading, needing, begging, and hoping,” the red-winged male elder sighed. “This table conversation grows wearisome.” He left the table and moved toward the crowd on the dance floor, and a few other elders followed him.
“Oh!” Aoide said. “I apologize if I gave offense—”
Garalt elbowed her again.
“What now?” Aoide asked.
“Apologies are even more boring than begging and pleading, young one,” the elder with the blue wings said.
“Oh, I am sor—” Aoide just barely caught herself before she said the word sorry. “I mean...would you like to hear us perform a song?”
The remaining elders smiled.
“That would be lovely,” the golden-winged fairy said.
“This ogre doesn’t sing,” Skezg squeaked. “I’ll stay here and eat.”
“I’ll stay and help Skezg eat,” Neus said. The faun was nibbling on clovers—the three-leaf kind, not the lucky kind.
Garalt escorted the four of them over to the stage, keeping a hand on Rhodia’s arm, just above the elbow. He introduced them to the local musicians.
Aoide and Rhodia sang a traditional song, “The Snack’s in the Tree.” It was about a young girl-fairy, not even a century old, who went wandering in the Hauntlands and got lost. Fortunately, she was helped by a hideous but friendly ogre, who gave her some of his snackberries and showed her the way home. The crowd applauded when they finished.
“How lucky to find such talented singers in the woods,” Garalt said. He took Aoide’s hand and escorted her out to the dance floor as the band started up a lively air-jig. Rhodia looked after them with a slight pout.
The fairies danced in the air above the dance floor. As the song reached its middle and reversed—most air-jigs were played backwards during the second half of the song, all the way back to the first note—everybody changed partners, and Aoide found herself dancing with a shy young farmer, who goggled at her tight black city clothes. Garalt swept Rhodia off the stage to join in the dance, and Rhodia giggled.
Aoide did her best to appreciate their hospitality and have a good time. After days and nights of scrounging on the road, she should have enjoyed the unlimited, tasty food and the cheerful music. She would probably even sleep in a proper hammock tonight.
Still, she worried. It didn’t seem like these fairies were particularly eager to help her. If she couldn’t get the help of a banshee wolf, then she wouldn’t know what to do. On top of that, her bandmates would be angry that she’d dragged them way out west for nothing.
Aoide clapped her feet together and tried to concentrate on the dance. Everything was now down to luck, and luck hadn’t exactly been her friend lately.