by Linda Jordan
Adaire hated to pronounce judgement on a tree. She was a dryad after all. These were her kin. But both trees were suffering. The spruce it would be kinder to let die. The fir, she wasn’t sure. In this human body her senses were dulled. She couldn’t sense everything. Human bodies were so limited.
“If this were your garden, what would you do?”
“I would remove both trees, and I’d find out why the fir is dying. Make sure it’s not a soil problem. Then I’d put in the hardscaping. Paths and fences. A patio if you want one. Then I’d enrich the soil everywhere. It looks drained. I’d remove all the invasive weeds and probably a few other shrubs. Give the ones you want to keep more space. And everything I can see here needs a good pruning. Except perhaps that Hamamelis, the witch hazel there. Give the garden more light and airflow.”
“I agree with you. I feel bad about cutting down mature trees, but both of them look terrible.”
“You can always plant more trees. Do some research. Plant trees that are the right size for your garden. Choose shorter trees and plant them on the north side of your garden so they work as a winter wind break and don’t fill your garden with shade. You have so many choices here.”
Eleni was scribbling down things on her clipboard as fast as Adaire said them.
The consultation continued. Adaire identified the different shrubs and Eleni took more notes. They went over Eleni’s plans she’d drawn up for the garden and Adaire helped her decide what was workable.
Adaire left her a long list of resources for which Eleni was grateful. They agreed that Eleni would make another appointment once the trees were down, wooden fencing was up and paths were done. Then Eleni would have compost delivered and start shoveling it onto all the beds. Eleni was going to have her compost bins built, so making compost and pruning would be the first lesson.
Adaire waved goodbye and began the walk back to the daylight basement she rented from the homeowner. Her senses felt duller than usual.
She needed to get out into the woods.
Alone.
Her friend Max was out of town. He liked to go camping out in the woods and stay up all night taking photos of the sky and use his telescope.
She’d have to settle for the Arboretum.
That night she left her human body in the bed of her small apartment in the basement. As she went out to the street. Adaire made herself gossamer, then invisible. She climbed on the back of a jeep, that had a tire mounting to hold onto, her feet on the bumper. Trying not to breathe in the awful exhaust and ignoring the jangling sensation the car gave her from its motor. She hated cars.
Some Fae weren’t bothered by a lot of the metals, she was.
Adaire rode it all the way to the University District. Then she ran across the University Bridge. Keeping to the shadows, just in case someone, or something could penetrate her invisibility.
She caught the back of a small pickup and rode it over to Montlake. She walked the remaining blocks to the Arboretum.
Fluidly slipping through the wrought iron fence, she was in the forest. A highly cultivated forest, but there were many big trees, all the same. Tonight she moved towards the oaks. She needed their strength.
Adaire climbed up into the largest one just as Security came by. Once the guard left, she was alone. Just her, the trees, the sleeping squirrels. And birds, some awake, some not. And a few insects.
Her senses expanded outwards. Taking pleasure in the feeling of sap rising in the oaks. She could almost taste their green juiciness. They’d just begun to leaf out and all their energy was moving towards upward growth.
It was been too long since she’d been one with a tree.
Her cheek rubbed against the rough bark, the scent of rain in the air. She felt blissful, here in the green forest. Even if it was human made and highly managed. The trees were strong and alive and she reveled in their power.
Why had she left all this behind to live in the human world? This was where she belonged.
Her brothers and sisters had retreated to the trees. Chosen not to take part in the human world. Chosen to let it take them when their trees were cut down, killing them as well.
Chosen suicide rather than positive action.
Why didn’t she just choose a nice tree and live in it?
She was lost in the juiciness of the tree when the warning came.
Her senses yelled, “Flee!”
A suction was pulling her from the tree, like a giant vacuum.
She screamed. Tried to hang tight to the oak’s branches.
But the wrenching was too strong.
Her hands slipped. She was thrown into a large metal box. The lid closed. It felt like agony.
The metal burned her.
Her soul felt torn.
Then she lost consciousness.
Weeping for the loss of the tree. And the pain.
Chapter 5 ~ Skye
Skye was kept in the small box for hours. She tried not to touch it, but it was so small, she couldn’t expand her wings. She had to sit on the bottom and be curled up in a fetal position so she wasn’t touching the walls or top.
The cold iron burned her. It made her brain jangled and tangled. She couldn’t think straight. The pain set her teeth on edge. Her mouth felt dry and she needed water.
She could feel the box being jostled around as if it was being moved.
Her mind raced. Who would want to do this to her? Entrap her?
She had no answers.
The burning sensation made her stay in her mind. She tried not to acknowledge her body. The pain was unbearable.
So, she kept thinking. Planning a way out.
Eventually, the small box was opened at the bottom and she was dumped in a cell. The floor was concrete and she hit it hard, unable to get her wings open in time. She tried to fly up out the still open top, but the lid of cold iron was dropped too quickly for her and she hit that hard too.
Skye was slapped back to the floor by the lid, but this time she landed on her feet.
The cell she was in was just a larger box. About ten feet square and tall. She fluttered her wings anxiously. It was dimly lit by her own glow.
The sides were hard metal of some kind, imbedded with bars of cold iron. She kept away from them, staying in the center of the room. The cold iron made her uncomfortable. She’d built up a small amount of tolerance for human metals, depending on the components. Cold iron was the worst.
She paced in a circle in the center of the box. For what must have been hours and hours. This box didn’t move. She’d been dumped here. By someone who knew she’d be affected by the cold iron.
Who and why?
It wasn’t as debilitating as the small box which had been solid cold metal, but it was bad enough.
Eventually, she lay down and napped lightly.
When she woke, the same things rolled around in her head. Whoever had caught her had known her. Had been watching her and waiting for her to fly.
She felt thirsty and moved her thick, dry tongue around inside her mouth, trying to get some saliva flowing. She fluttered her wings half-heartedly and folded them neatly behind her.
Skye sat up. Her arms around her knees. Remembering the history of the Fae. Had things really happened the way she’d been taught?
Or had their history happened just like the humans? Written and rewritten by those who’d won. Those who were currently in power. Those who’d retreated from the world, back into Faerie.
After a long time, the ceiling opened in one corner and a body dropped into the room with her.
It landed on the concrete with a hard thud.
Chapter 6 ~ Egan
Egan opened his eyes. He lay on a concrete floor inside a cold iron cage. It was dimly lit and he was freezing. He sensed heat in one area.
Then he saw her. A sylph, sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to her chest and arms wrapped around her knees. She had a far away look on her face. As if she was trying to shut out everything.
He could smell n
othing except the metal. His mouth was dry and his belly grumbling. How long had he been out?
His shoulder ached. He must have landed on it the wrong way. He rolled it around, trying to loosen the muscles.
He sat up and she opened her eyes, stared at him with unseeing eyes. He could tell her mind was elsewhere.
The amount of pain he saw in her eyes made him gasp.
He shivered from the cold.
She saw him, recognized his problem and came to him, huddling up next to him. To share her warmth. She felt terribly overheated for a sylph. Feverish.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I was plucked from the skies over the Olympic Mountains. In Washington state. You?”
“I was taken from a furnace in Santa Fe.”
She shrugged.
“Have you seen anyone?”
She shook her head.
“So we don’t know what they want.”
“No,” she said, softly. She buried her head in her arms.
He felt the gossamer softness of her wings against his scales. He’d never had much to do with sylphs or any of the flying folk really. They’d almost lived in different worlds, different habitats, even though they were both Fae.
Sylphs were the beautiful ones of Faerie. Slender and tall, with beautiful wings and silky hair down to their ankles. They had blue eyes the color of a summer sky. And often bluish tinged skin. He had never seen a sylph, male or female, who wasn’t stunning.
Fire Fae, like him were often considered unattractive. They were sometimes tall and slender like him, but just as often, short, squat and stocky. Covered in yellow, orange, red and sometimes black scales on their backs, shoulders, the tops of their arms and often on the back, sides and top of their heads. Where other Fae had long, luscious hair, fire Fae were hairless. Hair would burn in the fires.
His sharp ears caught a grating sound. From above. He looked up and saw the ceiling sliding. A small space opened and a dark shape was dropped inside.
It landed on the concrete. And lay there motionless. A water sprite.
Then the ceiling snapped back into place as if it was a large box.
If he’d been able, perhaps he could have jumped out through the hole. But he was too cold, sluggish. His muscles wouldn’t work well enough. He’d risk touching the cold iron in the walls.
The thought of that agony kept him from moving. Normally, he could’ve touched the wall, if he hadn’t been so cold. The cold made him weak.
So Egan sat and watched the sprite lying there. He could sense its life, the cold wetness of it.
The sylph also just sat there, lost in her pain and fear. She would be no help in coming up with a plan for escape.
Finally, the sprite came to consciousness. He sat up in one fluid motion and looked around. He saw Egan looking at him and nodded.
Egan returned the nod.
The water sprite was greenish, like most, with stringy, grasslike hair and slightly webbed feet and hands. He looked a little doughy, but Egan knew that was an illusion. Water sprites were massively strong.
The sprite sat looking around, taking everything in, but saying nothing.
Egan ran through the possibilities of why they had been captured, but nothing stayed. None of this made sense.
What seemed like hours later, the ceiling cracked open in another place and dropped another body. This one was conscious. It landed on its feet with a great thud.
It was a she. A dryad. Her eyes burned with anger.
She stood in the corner where she’d been dropped. Looked around and saw all of them.
Dryads were known for their height and slenderness. She also had greenish tinged skin and knee-length black hair. An angular body, that looked slight, but he knew she was strong.
He’d wrestled with a dryad once. Only once.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, her eyes nearly flaming. Impressive for a dryad.
“I don’t know,” said Egan.
“Where are we? What’s happening?” she asked.
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” said the sylph next to him.
“No,” said the dryad.
“Someone’s hunting Fae who live with humans,” the sylph said.
“Why? And how? And who?” asked the water sprite.
The sylph shrugged.
“I’m Egan,” he said.
“Dylan,” said the sprite.
“Skye,” said the sylph.
“Adaire,” said the dryad.
“Why are we here?” asked Adaire again.
“Could it be whoever’s the Luminary in Faerie these days?” asked Skye.
“Perhaps. Or someone who wants to break Faerie,” said Adaire, walking over and sitting next to Egan and Skye.
Dylan got up and joined them. Sitting down with a squishy sound, water dripped off his slippery looking skin.
“Why do you say that?” Dylan asked.
“Well, we’re all here aren’t we?” Adaire said. “Air,” she pointed at Skye “Fire,” she pointed at him. “Water,” she pointed at Dylan. “Earth,” she pointed at herself.
“You need more than the four elements to break Faerie,” said Dylan.
“What else do you need?” asked Egan. He didn’t think it was possible to bring down the boundary Faerie had put up. Only from within and by the ones who made the enclosure in the first place.
“A vast amount of power, I’d guess,” said Adaire
“You’re full of power,” said Dylan.
“Why else would someone abduct us? You were abducted weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was,” said Dylan. “There are plenty of reasons why someone would do this. I prefer not to speculate about it at the moment.”
“What?” asked Egan.
Dylan held out his webbed hand and began counting off on his fingers as he spoke, “We’re a zoo. Captured Fae. We’re entertainment. Twisted or not. They want our power. Want to use us to gain power in the human world. I could go on, but I don’t want to venture there.”
The room fell silent then.
They waited for hours.
No more Fae were dropped into the cell.
He hoped there weren’t more cells of trapped Fae in this place.
No water was offered. They all suffered from the nearness of the cold iron. Egan hoped they’d be able to escape.
All he had right now was hope.
Egan went deep inside himself and found the warmth. The heat. And basked in it. Feeling it spread throughout his body.
Keeping himself alive.
Chapter 7 ~ Balor
Balor sat bent over in the darkness, elbows braced on his knees and both normal eyes closed. His third eye, in the middle of his forehead and bald head, was covered with seven colored bandanas. Yellow, orange, red, purple, blue, green and black on the top layer. He was a giant, perched on the stout metal stool sitting in the middle of the nearly empty, dilapidated warehouse.
He could smell the decades of filth that had piled up in the building. Human garbage. Mouse droppings. Woodsmoke from his fire drifted past his nose. Birds nested up near the ceiling, the tiny cries of their young breaking the silence.
The old warehouse was made of rusted metal pieces, many of them torn off and blown away over time. Broken windows let the wind blow through the ruins, making his aged gray pants and shirt feel thin.
The same wind which told him the others would come. He felt sure of it.
He’d sent out the call.
They would take back their world, once again.
The Fae would be defeated. Once and for all.
His mouth felt gritty from the blowing sand. He’d brought the drought here with him. And as long as he stayed, so would the drought. Even with his third eye covered.
He spat.
The Fae had stolen his lands, conquered his people by war and interbreeding, finally exiling them. Now the new gods had suffered the same conquest by humans. The Fae were weak.
Faerie, having cl
osed itself, existed in the same space as the human world, but humans couldn’t reach Faerie now.
It was as if Faerie had covered the land and the sky with a huge invisible and magical cloth. Passing through that cloth would take one to Faerie, although only Fae could pass through. Walking on the land would take one to the same physical space on Earth that the humans now held, except there would be no sign of Faerie, even though it was there.
Balor meant to see that cloth removed and all of Faerie destroyed. All Fae murdered. Then that space of Earth would belong to the Fomorians again.
He spat at the fire, hearing the spittle sizzle as it dried out. Such would be his drought. He would make Faerie pay. He’d devastate their land.
They thought the old gods, the first gods, the Fomorians were dead.
Gone.
But the Fomorians had only hidden, tucked themselves away over the wide world. Waiting for the right time. Like the Fae were doing, hunkered down in Faerie. Except for the few stragglers.
All of whom Balor had captured.
Easily.
The Fae were weak and stupid. They’d grown soft living among humans. They were no longer warriors.
First the Fomorians would exterminate the Fae, just like all of Faerie had tried to do to them.
Only he, Balor, would make sure the Fomorians succeeded.
Then, it would be a simple thing to enslave the humans. They had no magical powers and their ‘technology’, the god they worshipped, would be easily defeated.
He threw more wood on the fire and watched the flames take hold.
Famine, drought, storms, winds, the strength of the seas, earthquakes, all those and more were the tools he and his people had at their disposal.
This time they would win.
Chapter 8 ~ Fiachna
Fiachna walked through the knee deep grass and heather, the dew on the plants wetting his deerskin pants to up to the knees. The heather was blooming in white, purple and pink. A heron flew past him so close that Fiachna could feel the wind created from its wings. The world smelled fresh and new.