Trill Changes Her Tune

by Gail Herman

  Copyright © 2009 Disney Enterprises, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.

  For information address Disney Press, 114 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10011-5690.

  ISBN 978-1-4231-5928-5

  Visit disneyfairies.com

  Table of Contents

  All About Fairies

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  IF YOU HEAD toward the second star on your right and fly straight on till morning, you’ll come to Never Land, a magical island where mermaids play and children never grow up.

  When you arrive, you might hear something like the tinkling of little bells. Follow that sound and you’ll find Pixie Hollow, the secret heart of Never Land.

  A great old maple tree grows in Pixie Hollow, and in it live hundreds of fairies and sparrow men. Some of them can do water magic, others can fly like the wind, and still others can speak to animals. You see, Pixie Hollow is the Never fairies’ kingdom, and each fairy who lives there has a special, extraordinary talent.

  Not far from the Home Tree, nestled in the branches of a hawthorn, is Mother Dove, the most magical creature of all. She sits on her egg, watching over the fairies, who in turn watch over her. For as long as Mother Dove’s egg stays well and whole, no one in Never Land will ever grow old.

  Once, Mother Dove’s egg was broken. But we are not telling the story of the egg here. Now it is time for Trill’s tale.…

  CH-CH-CH, T-T-T-TWEET. CH-CH-CH, T-T-T-TWEET. Trill followed a nightingale along the banks of the Wough River. She cocked her head, listening to the bird’s song.

  Trill was a music-talent fairy. She heard music in every corner of Never Land. She always found a melody, a beat, or a rhythm wherever she went. Right now it was the nightingale chirping, singing a duet with the rush of the river.

  “How lovely!” Trill murmured. She settled on the branch of a birch tree, just below the one the bird had landed on.

  Quietly, Trill slipped off her leafpack and took out her instrument, the panpipes.

  The panpipes were made from hollow bamboo shoots glued together with sap and tied with vines. To Trill, they felt as light and comfortable as her very own wings.

  Trill blew across the pipes, warming up. Each shoot was a different length and sounded a different note.

  Whoooo. Toot, toot, whoooo. The notes flowed into one another. The lilting music echoed through the trees, over the water.

  T-t-t-tweet, the nightingale sang. Sh-sh-sh, the water gurgled. Tootle-whooo, Trill played.

  Beck and Fawn, two animal talents, fluttered up to the branch. “That sounds nice!” said Beck.

  Trill blushed, and her glow turned a deep orange. She ducked her head. Her long, unruly curls covered her face. “I—I—I didn’t know anyone was listening!”

  Beck sat down and swung her legs back and forth. “Well, we were just flying by. We’re meeting some chipmunks for an acorn hunt. You know, Trill, you can come, too.”

  “Yes! Come!” said Fawn.

  Trill thought for a moment. Sometimes chipmunk chatter had a chirping beat. Almost like a bird’s song…

  But if she went with Beck and Fawn, she’d have to think of things to say.

  Trill liked Beck. She liked Fawn, too.

  But she didn’t know them very well. What would she talk about? Probably she’d wind up saying nothing at all and just getting in the way.

  “N-n-nooo.” Trill shook her head. She hunched over a bit so that she and Beck were eye to eye. Trill was taller than the average fairy. But she never liked to stand out. “Maybe another time.”

  “Sure, another time,” Beck said easily. “Fly with you later!”

  The animal talents took off. Trill watched as they fluttered close to the ground, calling out to the chipmunks.

  Alone again, Trill let out a breath.

  Good thing I didn’t go, she thought. The whole idea—being with other talents! Doing something she’d never done! She felt nervous just thinking about it!

  Trill swung her legs back and forth, the way Beck had done. Still, it might have been fun. Sometimes she wished she weren’t so shy.

  Trill picked up the panpipes again and began to play. Soon she was lost in the music. It blended with the rumble of the water…the rustling of leaves…the occasional croak or twitter. Trill yawned, lulled by the soft sounds.

  I could stay here all day, she thought.

  The panpipes slipped from her hands. Her eyelids drooped. Zzzz. Her soft snores mixed with the sounds of the woods.

  Bzzzz. A bee buzzed by Trill’s ear.

  Trill sat up with a start. “Uh-oh!” How long had she been sleeping? She gazed through the trees. The sun hung low in the sky.

  She had been here all day. Well, all afternoon, at least.

  Trill was due back at the Home Tree. The music talents were meeting in the courtyard to plan the upcoming Oceanside Symphony.

  I can’t be late for that! Trill thought. Cleff’s in charge.

  Cleff was always the first music talent at any meeting, at any concert—at anything at all. Even when he had the fairy flu, he came to the tearoom for every meal, right on time.

  Trill dove from the branch. She swooped along the muddy riverbank. Then she zoomed toward the Home Tree.

  Ch-ch-chirp! Ch-ch-chirp! That wasn’t another bird singing…was it?

  Trill paused.

  No! Two river otters were sliding down the muddy bank, a mother and her baby. They cooed, whistled, and chirped.

  Was Beck close by? Or Fawn? No. No one would hear her. “Hmmmmmmm, hmmmm,” Trill hummed along.

  Then the baby dove into the water. Trill hovered over the river, waiting for more of his music.

  Ch-ch-chirp! Right below Trill, the otter came up for air. He looked her in the eye.

  Trill held her breath. The otter opened his mouth.

  “Eeeeeee!” He screamed for his mother. His cry was so loud, it was earsplitting! Trill fell backward in surprise. Her wings dropped into the river.

  “Oh, no!” she moaned. She’d gotten her wings wet!

  Already, she felt the wings weigh her down. She beat them furiously. But they were heavy from the water. They hardly moved at all.

  Trill flew low, struggling to keep above the river. Like most fairies, she couldn’t swim. She had to reach the shore! But she was sinking fast.

  Her toes dipped into the river, then her knees. The water lapped at her waist, then reached up to her leaf-pack. She dropped lower…lower…

  Her feet touched the river floor. The water was only inches deep.

  Panting a bit, Trill pulled herself to shore. “Brrrr.” She shivered. The air felt cold. And she couldn’t fly. Her wings were too damp.

  But it was almost time for the symphony meeting. She had to get to the Home Tree—now!

  Trill trudged through the woods, climbing over roots and skirting tall plants.

  If she hurried, if she really, really rushed, maybe she’d get to the meeting on time.

  AT LAST, TRILL reached the Home Tree. She stopped just outside the courtyard and craned her neck to see through the bushes into the yard.

  All the music talents sat on pebbles, grouped around Cleff. They were looking up at him, waiting.

  Tap, tap, tap. Cleff drummed his foot against the paving stoves. He glanced at the sun, which was just dipping below th
e horizon. Then he shook his head.

  Cleff hadn’t started the meeting yet, Trill realized. He looks as if he’s waiting for someone, she thought in a panic. Probably me!

  Trill wanted to rush in. She wanted to explain why she was late. But then all the musicians would stare at her. So she stayed hidden behind the bushes.

  Tap, tap, tap. Cleff sighed and finally spoke. “I’d like to call this meeting to order. As you all know, we’re here to discuss the Oceanside Symphony.”

  He turned to point in the direction of the shore.

  This was Trill’s chance! There was an empty pebble next to her best friend, Cadence. Holding her breath, Trill parted the leaves of the bushes. Then she slipped in among the music talents.

  Would Cleff notice?

  “Oh, there you are, Trill,” Cleff said as he turned back around. Everyone twisted in their seats to look at her.

  Cleff didn’t sound annoyed or angry. Still, Trill’s glow burned deep orange.

  “I—I—I know I’m l-l-late,” she said. Oh, why did she have to stutter when she was nervous! And why did she have to tower over the other fairies and sparrow men? She was always so…so noticeable!

  Trill shrank down low on her seat. “I’d fly b-b-backward if I could.”

  She didn’t want to say any more. But maybe, she thought, I should tell Cleff about the otter? And about getting wet?

  Cleff didn’t ask for any explanation, though. He nodded and went on. “As I was saying, the Oceanside Symphony will be held three nights from now. It’s coming right up. We need to…”

  As Cleff spoke, Cadence patted Trill’s hand. Grateful, Trill smiled at her friend.

  I’ll pay close attention now, Trill promised herself. I’ll be a model music talent.

  It wouldn’t be difficult, she thought. She loved the Oceanside Symphony. The concert was held on a clear moonlit night. Dulcie and the baking talents prepared a grand feast. And the light talents ended the evening with a magnificent light show.

  Best of all, the sound of the breaking waves blended with the music. It was all so wonderful!

  “We’ll begin with ‘Welcome One, Welcome All,’” Cleff read from his notes, “and end with ‘Fare Thee Well, Sweet Moon and Stars.’ There’ll be three additional pieces. The crickets will join in on the…”

  Trill’s mind wandered. She could guess everything Cleff would say. For as long as she could remember, every symphony had been the same. The same songs. The same order. True, the feast and the lights were amazing. And the music, too, of course.

  Trill loved performing in concerts. Whenever she played with other musicians, anytime, anywhere, she felt comfortable. Holding her panpipes, she was almost graceful. She didn’t mind other fairies looking at her at all.

  Still, the Oceanside Symphony was becoming…not boring, exactly. Trill wouldn’t say that. Predictable? Yes, that was it.

  “Ahem.” Cleff cleared his throat. Then he unrolled a long scroll. The leaf-paper was covered with complicated drawings of driftwood seats and musicians’ names. Arrows pointed every which way.

  “This shows who sits where, and who plays when,” Cleff explained.

  Everyone shifted closer to see.

  “The trumpeters and percussionists will sit closest to the water,” Cleff said. “The harpists and others, farther back.”

  Didn’t they always sit this way? Trill sighed as Cleff went on and on.

  Sh-sh-sh. A soft sound wafted out through an open window. Trill peeked inside the Home Tree, into the lobby. Polishing talents were buffing the long, curving banister. Each time they swiped their moss rags, a shushing sound drifted into the courtyard.

  “It’s a rhythm!” Trill whispered to herself. She tapped her foot against the ground, adding a beat. Her fingers snapped in time. She closed her eyes.

  “Hmmmm, hmm,” she hummed. Slowly, she felt a shift in the air. She opened one eye, then the other. Everyone was staring at her!

  “Trill,” said Cleff. He sounded as if this wasn’t the first time he’d called her name. “What do you think about the change?”

  Change? Trill looked at him, alert. “There’s something new?” she asked.

  “I was thinking the panpipe section should sit on the left,” Cleff explained. He held up the scroll again. “That would mean the percussionists would move to the right, and the…”

  Trill nodded absently. Did it really matter if she sat on the left or the right? The music was what counted. Everything else—the seating, the programs, the dresses—had its place, of course. But when it came right down to it, fairies were there for the music.

  But Trill didn’t want to question Cleff. Everyone would stare at her again. Besides, there were so many other interesting things to listen to. Trill focused on the tinkling of glasses coming from the kitchen. The banging of pots. The murmur of the breeze…

  “All right, everyone,” Cleff finally said. “I think we’ve covered everything. You’ve been very patient.”

  All around, fairies and sparrow men stood and stretched. Twins Ariette and Lyra brushed dirt from their dresses at the same exact time, in the same exact way.

  Trill turned toward Cadence. “I have to tell you why I was—”

  “Trill?” Cleff fluttered beside her. “Could you stay a bit longer?”

  Trill gulped. Was Cleff going to scold her for being late? Would she be able to explain?

  “I’d like to go over the panpipes solo in the third song.”

  Trill let out a breath. Finally! Something important! “Sure.” She reached into her leaf-pack.

  The panpipes weren’t there!

  “MY PANPIPES! THEY’RE GONE!” Trill cried. “Oh, no! I must have dropped them when I fell asleep!” Without another word to Cleff or Cadence, she took off for the Wough River.

  “Wait! I’ll come with you!” called Cadence.

  Trill waited for her friend. Then, together, they flew to the riverbank to search.

  “I’ve got to find them!” Trill darted down among the plants and shrubs, and up to the leafy treetops. “I’ve had them since I Arrived!”

  Trill’s panpipes had been made by the instrument master, Strad. The fairy had spent weeks crafting the bamboo shoots, hoping that a new Arrival would announce her talent and be a match for the instrument. And then Trill came to Never Land.

  Trill knew she was a music talent right away, of course. Still, she felt lost at first, unsure of what she should do and where she should go. But then she held the panpipes and everything seemed right.

  “I know exactly how you feel!” said Cadence, trying to keep up. “If I lost my drums, I’d feel just awful.”

  The fairies peeked into a hollow log, then under a root.

  “Are you looking for something?” Beck asked them. She waved good-bye to a seagull and flew over to Trill.

  “Yes. My p-p-panpipes,” said Trill. She was beginning to feel desperate. “I must have dropped them somewhere around here.”

  “I’ll help,” Beck offered. She circled the trees for a few minutes, searching. As she flew, she chattered in a strange high voice.

  A chipmunk poked his head out of a nearby knothole, and Beck said something to him. Trill held her breath.

  Maybe the chipmunk had seen her panpipes!

  The animal shook his head and popped back into the hole.

  “Oh! He doesn’t know, either!” Trill said. She couldn’t believe her panpipes might be gone forever.

  “Don’t give up!” Beck said. She pulled Trill and Cadence along as she flew to another tree. The fairies landed on a branch covered with brown and green leaves.

  For a moment, no one moved.

  Why were they just sitting here, doing nothing? “B-B-Beck—” Trill began.

  “Shhh!” Beck made a noise deep in her throat. It sounded like sheets of sandpaper rubbing together. Slowly, two brown leaves unfurled.

  “Oh!” Trill gasped. Those weren’t leaves. It was a gray moth, opening her wings.

  The moth bent toward
Beck, making those same scratchy sounds.

  “Did the moth see the panpipes?”

  Cadence asked. “Does she know where they are?”

  “No,” Beck said.

  Trill’s heart dropped. What if they were really and truly gone? But Beck was already hopping off the branch. “Let’s ask this blue jay!” she suggested.

  Beck chirped, then listened to the bird’s answer.

  “She said to follow her!” Beck told Trill and Cadence.

  The three fairies trailed the blue jay to a tall pine tree.

  “We looked here already,” Trill said. “The p-p-panpipes aren’t here.”

  “Are you sure?” Beck landed next to the bird’s nest and studied it closely.

  “I see them!” Trill’s voice rose in excitement. “They’re right there, in the nest!”

  The blue jay had woven the panpipes in with twigs and leaves. Unless you looked closely, the panpipes were hard to spot—just like the moth resting among the leaves.

  Carefully, Beck freed the panpipes. She patted the blue jay in thanks. Then she handed the instrument to Trill.

  “Oh, I’m so happy!” Trill couldn’t stop smiling. She had her panpipes back!

  Cadence bent down to look at the instrument closely. “Uh-oh,” she said.

  Trill lifted the panpipes. They were scratched and muddied and knocked out of shape.

  “They’ll be fine,” she said.

  Trill had her instrument back. So what if it was a little damaged? How bad could it be?

  “Listen.” She blew into the shortest pipe.

  BLAT! Trill winced at the noise. She blew into another pipe, then another. BLAT! BLEAT! Each note sounded terrible, like nails scraping against slate rock.

  Uh-oh was right.

  A LITTLE LATER, Trill waited quietly in Strad’s workshop. She breathed in the smell of wood and sap and silk and felt a little better.

  Instruments had their own special scents, and just sitting in the place where they were made and repaired soothed Trill.

  She gazed around the room. Minipumpkins lined a set of walnut shelves. Next to those lay a pile of maple leaves. She knew the pumpkins would be carved into drums, and the leaves used as covers. Silk strings for fiddles and harps hung on thorn hooks. Coconut shells, filled with trumpet flowers, stood in every corner.