The Treachery Of A Weasel

by Robert Blanchard

  Throughout the night, I caught Mirabelle continuing to steal glances at me, a look that was all disappointment, concern, and curiosity. I couldn’t bring myself to meet those violet eyes.

  ***

  We continued our journey the next morning, setting out on the dirt road after breakfast. The air was crisp and cool, the sun rising just over the horizon to the east. The setting was peaceful, birds chirping all around. I wanted to hold hands with Mirabelle, but there was still some tension between us, and I felt like if I tried to show her any affection, it wouldn’t be welcome.

  Everyone was quiet, still absorbing everything that had happened in Severance. We all kept our distance from each other, which made things even more strange. The tension between all of us was so palpable that even the spear from an ogre couldn’t shatter it.

  That night, we were setting up camp in a grove of trees away from the trail. It was a cool, clear night, the moon and stars shining brightly overhead, a light breeze coming in our direction from the west. Derrick and Mirabelle made a fire, and we all sat around it quietly.

  Someone had to say something. If we didn’t, I felt like things would explode.

  Suddenly, Aurora was in front of me, staring intently. She turned and pointed at all of the others, then at me, then away from the camp. I was trying to make sense of it when she started walking in the direction that she pointed in.

  In the midst of all the confusion, I had forgotten Narissara’s words, telling me to follow Aurora for more help.

  She led us a short distance to the west, to a field with medium-high grass, sparse trees throughout, a small stream on the left, and a rock face on the right. Something wasn’t right about it. Calling my attention more to the area (my focus had been on other matters), I noticed immediately that there were floating lights zipping around the field, like fireflies—but only on the right side of the field.

  What the—

  Then I noticed something else—tiny, high-pitched voices. I couldn’t make out what any of them were saying; it sounded like there were hundreds of them. Aurora rushed toward them.

  I closed my eyes tightly and shook my head, concerned that I might be going mad—but a glance around at the others showed that I wasn’t the only one seeing or hearing things.

  Derrick cast me a look that said, “Well, let’s investigate.”

  We took a few steps closer to the lights. Aurora was there, kneeling. From a distance, I couldn’t tell exactly what the floating lights were, but as we got closer, I began to discern pairs of fluttering, transparent wings, much too big to be any firefly I’d ever seen.

  Suddenly, as we came on the border of the medium-length grass, the floating lights all froze in place, and the high-pitched voices all fell silent—from the ground, on the left side, from the grass.

  What in the name of the gods is going on?

  Just then, a small, voice rang out from the grass. “Hide, you idiots. Hide!”

  The floating lights didn’t move. “They’ve already seen us, you morons. What good would it do us to hide like you sniveling rats?”

  “Why you—” the voice in the grass seethed, but I still couldn’t make it out. My night eyes could make everything out just fine, but whoever—or whatever—was hiding in the grass was remaining hidden, out of sight.

  “What business do you have here? Aurora, who are they?” one of the lights asked, fluttering forward. The light surrounding the—thing—made it difficult for me to tell what it was, but the voice sounded female.

  “Why would you even ask her?” came a voice from the grass. “You know she’s not going to answer, you dirty moth!”

  “Call me a ‘moth’ one more time …” the female voice replied, warning in its tone.

  “You’re trespassing!” came a voice from the grass. It sounded directed at me.

  My eyes darted back and forth. “Trespassing … on what?”

  “Our property!” Another voice from the grass.

  “Well, I don’t see a “NO TRESPASSING” sign, or a “BEWARE OF DOG” sign anywhere,” Derrick observed.

  Kirra was chuckling. “Because if they had a dog, it would spend more time batting them around like they were mice than guarding the territory. More likely that it would have eaten all of its owners before now.”

  “Not funny!” An indignant voice rang out.

  I have to admit that I chuckled under my breath myself, but I tried my best to be diplomatic. “Kirra, come on … let’s try and be nice here.” Speaking to both the voices in the grass and the floating lights, I asked, “What is going on here?”

  The grass answered. “We’re at war!”

  Again, my eyes darted back and forth. “Who is at war?”

  “Us noble brownies and those despicable wasps!”

  Expecting wasps to be more aggressive and dangerous (not to mention devoid of glowing light), I turned my attention back to the lights. One of them floated toward me and spoke.

  “We are not wasps. We are pixies.”

  With that, the glowing light surrounding her dimmed just a little, allowing me to see the pixie in her true form. Only a few inches tall, with long black hair, pointed ears, and pale skin, she wore a knee-length, sparkling pink dress, and nothing on her feet. In her delicate way, she was quite beautiful, like a tiny porcelain doll.

  “If I may ask, what is this war all about?” I asked the pixie. Before she could answer, however, the brownies decided to chime in.

  “They stole our food!”

  “What … a bunch of nuts?” Kirra smirked.

  “Yes, precisely!” A brownie said earnestly. “They stole them from one of our food stores, a burrow by a tree, over there!” If the brownie pointed, we didn’t see it, since they were still hidden.

  “We did no such thing,” the pixie in front of me stated, her arms crossed and nose in the air in a dignified, if somewhat snotty, manner. “What need do we have for a bunch of nuts? We get our food from trees—”

  “Like bugs?” Said Kirra, in a slightly sarcastic tone.

  “We are not bugs!” The pixie screeched, suddenly in front of the retired thief.

  “Kirra,” I whispered to her under my breath, “you are not helping matters. Will you please let me handle this?”

  Kirra rolled her eyes, but put her hands up and backed away a little. I turned my attention back to the two sets of life forms before me. Focused on the pixie, who was once again hovering not too far away from me, I prepared to ask a question to which I was pretty sure I already knew the answer.

  “Did you take their food?”

  “We did not,” she answered.

  “How long has this war been going on?” I asked.

  The pixie glanced up at the moon. “About twenty-seven minutes.”

  Derrick had been taking a drink of water from his waterskin at that point, and nearly spit it out all over the field at the pixie’s answer.

  My own sudden need to laugh out loud at the length of their war mingling with the amazement of the pixie’s ability to tell minutes just by glancing at the moon, I struggled to keep a straight face.

  “Twenty-seven minutes.” A statement, not a question.

  The pixie nodded.

  I shrugged lightly. “I suppose that explains why we heard more of what appeared to be bickering more than actual sounds of war.”

  “You know, we could end this war very easily,” Derrick said. “All we’d have to do is take a few steps forward.”

  Suddenly, a streak of lightning flew past me, with a pair of wings attached, and collided with Derrick. As it did, there was a flash of blue-white light, and Derrick flew backward, crashing hard into a nearby tree. As he landed, the pixie screamed, “Stay out of this!”

  Kirra was laughing hysterically.

  Derrick sat up, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, and struggled to his feet, groaning with every move. Then he jumped up quickly, ready to unsheathe his broadsword. “We’re under attack! Did anyone see what hit me?”

  “Yes,” Mi
rabelle said dryly. “A pixie.”

  Kirra was now lying on her back, laughing even harder.

  Derrick’s expression was a state of shock. “What? No, that can’t be—it felt like I was struck by an ogre’s spear! Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure,” Iskandor said. “We all saw it happen.” Lady Mirabelle nodded in agreement.

  Derrick straightened, glanced at all of us. “Well, good you see you all have my back,” he said in mock appreciation.

  “You’re on the edge of a battlefield,” came one of those voices from the grass again.

  I was now seriously annoyed with the brownies. “Brownies, please show yourselves, so that I may see who I am dealing with.”

  “Yeah … stop being a bunch of cowards!” Called the pixie.

  “Call us what you want,” said one of the brownies, “but we’re still alive.”

  “So are we!” Cried the pixie. “Even after we attacked one of their own! Now come out from behind your blades of grass that would never shield you from their big toes!”

  Slowly, but surely, the brownies began to show themselves. I squatted close to the ground to get a better look; their dress was not unlike the poor to medium-class dress of any human—many of them dressed like I did as a teenage farm boy. Only slightly smaller than the pixies, their major facial features centered around pointed ears, pointed noses. Many, but not all of them, had beards of varying lengths. All of them were carry long-range weapons—miniature longbows, crossbows, and their only hand-to-hand weapon was a very long spear, which appeared to be made of a very long splinter with a sharp pebble somehow attached to the end.

  “You all look like strong people, on a mission,” one of them said. I gave them a brief synopsis of our story.

  “You need to take us with you!” One of the brownies shouted from the ground.

  I felt the blood drain from my face immediately … I was suddenly alarmed at the thought of dozens (hundreds?)(thousands?) of brownies following us across the landscape.

  I could tell Kirra was alarmed as well, though her expression showed signs of disgust too.

  I put my hand up in reassurance. “I’m sure my friends and myself will be just fine … “

  “No, you won’t!” Cried another brownie. “We can help you!”

  A pixie, the first one I talked to with the long, black hair, smirked. “Oh, please … the only way you can help is to reveal their long-lost secret of bathing in the mud—like pigs do.”

  The brownies began yelling and screaming indignantly, jumping up and down and making no sense at all.

  Derrick sidled up to me, and leaned in close. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this war started because the brownies couldn’t handle the pixies’ scathing insults anymore. Not to mention the fact that they can’t exactly grab the pixies around their necks and strangle them or anything.”

  I smiled inwardly, then turned my attention back the black-haired pixie. “What is your name?”

  She flashed a charming smile. “Ceiridwen.”

  Seeing as though “charming” seemed to be the tact Ceiridwen was attempting to take, I decided I should follow along the same route to get the best results. “That’s a very pretty name,” I said, smiling.

  Ceiridwen giggled, then zipped around and around before settling into her original position—which I took as a sign of delight.

  “Aidan,” Iskandor said softly. “We need to consider the possibility that this was the ‘help’ that Narissara was referring to.”

  I don’t know why (perhaps it was because I was expecting the ‘help’ to be a bit … taller), but the thought hadn’t even occurred to me.

  Kirra wasn’t laughing anymore. “No, no, no, no, no, no …” She was shaking her head and pacing back and forth. “That can’t be. How are these bugs going to be of any help to us?”

  The screaming from the ground was almost in unison. “We are not BUGS!”

  Suddenly, Kirra stepped up to the edge of the tall grass. “SHUT … UP!”

  Even with my night vision, I don’t know how I saw it, but I did, very clearly. A single, tiny arrow—about the size of a toothpick—hurtling out of the crowd of brownies. I also watched as it lodged itself in Kirra’s thigh.

  “OW!” Kirra exclaimed. She pulled the miniature arrow out of her leg. “Why, you little—” Then she was suddenly slapping at her leg. “Ah, it burns! What did you little runts put on that thing?”

  Now it was Derrick’s turn to laugh hysterically.

  Enraged—and having no clue which brownie actually fired the arrow—Kirra’s quickness and deft fingers snatched the nearest brownie with ease. I have no idea what she planned to do with it, but I knew what the brownies were planning to do—all of them (at least a hundred, possibly more), had their weapons up and ready to fire. I could only see the twenty or so nearby, but I had no doubt there were many more, following suit.

  Kirra was about to become a human pin cushion—literally.

  Knowing that the tiny arrows would do little more than fuel Kirra’s rage (she probably would have danced in the field—also literally—attempting to stomp the brownies out of existence), quite frankly, I panicked. Throwing myself bodily in front of her, I faced the brownies with a look on my face that I know must have bordered on psychotic.

  “Stop! Please, just … wait! She won’t hurt him … I promise! Just … hold your fire!”

  The brownies were unhappy with my plea, but they did as I asked. I turned my attention back to Kirra; Derrick was already next to her, speaking in low tones.

  “Kirra, put the brownie down.” Just that sentence alone was so ludicrous that, under different circumstances, I might have laughed. But I recovered quickly, smothering my giggle.

  “They have been at war,” I said, attempting to take on a soothing tone. “They are on edge, ready for battle, and you have done nothing but insult them since we showed up. With that one arrow, I believe you can consider yourselves even.”

  Kirra glared at me for a moment, then back at the brownie she had clutched in her hand. She was seething, her hand trembling in anger. Then she reared her arm back, ready to throw the brownie clear across the field.

  Derrick and I both put our hands up, and I let out a strangled “No!” The brownie squeaked and squealed with terror.

  Then, Kirra slowly brought her hand back, up to her face, coming face-to-face with the brownie. Kirra smiled a devilish grin, then, leaning over, deposited it on the ground. The brownie fell with a light splat, then scrambled to its feet and ran for cover.

  Breathing an inward sigh of relief, I collected myself and turned to find Mirabelle and Iskandor standing stoically nearby. Mirabelle had been watching the proceedings with vague interest, and Iskandor gazed intently, absorbing everything that was happening. I turned back around, and my attention fell to Aurora, whom I’d forgotten was even there. She was staring at me expectantly.

  I walked over to Iskandor. “I have read many books, on various subjects, but not nearly as many as you, I’m sure … have you ever read anything on brownies or pixies?” I kept my voice pitched low.

  Iskandor shook his head. “Nothing … in fact, I’m finding this whole exchange very fascinating. I’m not entirely sure the world is aware of their existence.”

  “The rest of the world finds us insignificant.” Ceiridwen’s voice was behind me. “We don’t matter to the giants of this world.”

  I turned back toward her, pondering this briefly in my head. How strange and lonely it must be, to be a civilization that no one knows exists … or cared to find out about …

  Narissara was right—I never would have found them myself.

  I took a few slow steps toward her and smiled lightly. “Perhaps someone will write a book someday.”

  Ceiridwen smiled and shrugged. “Perhaps I’ll write one myself.”

  A brownie snorted in derision. “You! Write a book … that would be worth reading!” Sarcasm was dripping from his voice.

  Ceiridwen eyed the brownie coolly. “
At least I’m capable of writing something.”

  The brownie lapsed into silence.

  “I would love to help you,” Ceiridwen proclaimed.

  “Hold on—we are at war here!” One of the brownies yelled. “You’re trying to steal our land!”

  The light-blond haired pixie glanced down at the brownies in disgust. “We are not stealing any land, or your stupid, dirt-covered food!”

  “Easy, Endelient,” Ceiridwen said. “Don’t let them get to you. They’ll say anything to get us going.”

  “But it’s true!” The brownie cried. “This land has been passed down to us for hundreds of generations!”

  Another pixie came forward, with short, red hair. “The only thing that has been passed down through your generations is your clothes.”

  The pixies laughed gleefully. “Good one, Enat!”

  While some of the brownies cried that their clothes were only five generations old, I turned to the rest of my companions. “We’ve got a real problem here.”

  “What problem?” Kirra asked, smirking. “We walk on through, kicking and swatting as we see fit. That doesn’t seem so hard, does it?”

  Another pixie came forward, wearing a black hood and what appeared to be miniature battle armor. “We have dealt with these giants long enough, Ceiridwen. Let me deal with them—a few fireballs and they’ll be fleeing for their lives.”

  I was trying to respect the pixies, but I wasn’t about to deal with being threatened. “I have seen your power, and though it is impressive, you don’t want to compare fireballs.”

  The pixie soldier crossed her arms. “You don’t have a fireball big enough to consume all of us.”

  “That’s enough, Gearóidín,” Ceiridwen admonished.

  “I believe I have a fireball big enough,” I said confidently.

  “Oh, is that so?” Gearóidín said, obviously not believing.

  I nodded, then turned to Iskandor, slyly winking at him. Iskandor, understanding immediately, backed up a few paces.