by Devon Ashley
I yelp when my progress yanks to an abrupt halt. For a moment, all of nature quiets in the tree, and the breeze disappears. My swing suddenly twists to the left, more and more and more, until it can’t twist anymore. I brace myself. My swing takes off full-force to the right. I scream playfully, the pressure building within my head, the force of the rotation throwing my balance to the left. I force my head upward and see a feathery swirl of green with bright specks of blue and white sky twinkling down at me.
My scream turns into a burst of giggles one normally hears from an excited pixling. My swing begins to slow, readying itself to reverse directions. I jerk back and forth a few times before coming to a complete stop. It takes a moment for the vertigo to cease within my head.
Hands caress my shoulders and stroke the length of my back. I peek over my shoulder, but all I see is a fluttery blue shimmer. Jack. His touch is magic, and my back begins to tingle everywhere his hands travel. I hardly feel it when his hands splay against my back, giving me another push, setting my swing back into motion. I sigh and drop my head backwards, kicking to speed up my sway. The flexible branches magically twist around my arms to support me. A gorgeous mop of brown waves, and eyes as green as the willow leaves, come into focus. Just as I’m about to swing away, luscious pink lips lean in to kiss my forehead, extending the curve of my smile.
Humming vibrates my throat, my mind filling with song. “Until then, just swing on the willowy tree.” I sway and sway and sway, for as long as he’s willing to reward me with a kiss each time.
I’m still swaying back and forth in a heavenly trance, softly murmuring the song in my head.
No…wait. I’m not the one humming. The sound is deeper, masculine. My eyes flutter, curious to learn the source of the sound. To my disappointment, I’m not swaying in the weeping willow anymore. The sunlight that I thought was peeping through the leaves, sprinkling me with a kaleidoscope effect of lights, is just the flame in the lantern flickering through the wavy glass walls of its prison.
I’m about to moan my opinion of the cruel disillusionment, when I realize my body is still swaying back and forth. But it’s not a willow branch wrapping itself around me, its Jack’s arms, securing me protectively against his body. My cheek is flush against his chest, and my body warm and snug as if cocooned. A heavenly sigh escapes my chest, but neither I nor Jack flinch, and he continues to rock us as he sings,
“When tears and darkness fall
And you can no longer hear my call
Ignore the evil one’s tempting plea
And scurry now to the willowy tree
Wait there you must, until the day
When Mother Nature illuminates your way
I’m afraid it’s the only key
To make the evil tendrils flee
Until then, just swing on the willowy tree”
As he sings, I lift my head to watch the notes vibrate the muscles in his throat. He senses me watching, and his smile is infectious.
“You know that song?” I ask. Duh, Rosalie. Maybe whacking myself in the head wasn’t such a good idea after all – but at least I can blame my stupidity on whatever head trauma I caused.
“Yeah. My mother used to sing it to me as a child. It took me a while to remember the words though. You’ve been singing parts of it in your sleep for awhile now, and it was driving me nuts that I couldn’t remember the words. It was always right on the tip of my tongue. They finally came to me yesterday when you were humming it in your sleep again.”
Lying against his firm chest is so perfect, I can’t help but reach my arms around his body and really snuggle in tight. He doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, his head bends to gently rest atop mine. I gasp quietly inside myself, little sparks of energy popping throughout my abdomen and chest. My heart feels like it’s trying to flip, fighting hard to break its tethers so it can join in the celebration.
We’d been so good to minimize contact since my moan sent him fleeing. But I don’t care anymore. If he’s not going to run from me right now, then I’m going to soak up as much physical contact as he’s willing to give.
I’m suddenly aware that my back is tingling with a numbing sensation. I groan, and elongate my neck to bury my eyes into his neck, too afraid to check the condition of my wings. Timidly, I whisper, “Did they hurt my wings again?”
I already know the answer.
His chest expands beyond normal lung capacity. Once it slowly releases the superfluous air, he quietly replies, “You were unconscious, so Finley didn’t stick around this time. Guess if he can’t watch you scream, he can’t get off on it.” His arms tighten, bringing our abdomens more flush. “Anyway, spriggans aren’t book smart. Most can’t even count. I did the count silently in my head and once I thought they did enough not to question, I told them to stop.” His upper hand sways back and forth, his fingers brushing the skin on my arm in soft, random patterns. “I’m sorry, Rosalie. I wish I could’ve stopped them completely.”
“How many?”
He knows exactly what I mean. “Thirty-two.”
I moan, and not in the pleasurable way that removed his hands in the past. If anything, his body is trying its best to cover as much of my body as possible, as if it could protect me or something. “How long was I out?”
“Four days.”
Now it’s my turn to overfill my chest. Four days? “Seriously, how bad is it?” Jack extends the length of our sway. After several passes, I urge, “Jack?” He continues to ignore my request, and when my head fearfully rotates toward my back, he presses my head firmly into his chest.
“I’m getting you out of here, Rosalie. And soon. Finley’s not getting another chance at your wings. Okay?”
I try to nod, but his grip is immobilizing. And like a fool pixie crushing on an unattainable faerie, I allow myself to be smothered to sleep by his protective grip.
Once again I awake like a baby cradled in Jack’s arms – and I love it. It saddens me that it took the devastation of watching my wings broken again for him to let go of everything holding him back, but I’m grateful he has. Even if friendship is all we can share, it warms my heart that there’s someone out there that will seriously miss me if my life’s hour glass came to drop its last grain of sand.
And I can’t believe I’m saying that about a faerie. Especially since his kind is responsible for wrongfully imprisoning me.
“What time is it?” I ask, my head swaying and my eyes heavy from grogginess.
“I don’t know.”
I give in to desire and allow my head to rest on his warm chest again. “You didn’t go home last night?”
“Nah,” he says, following it up with a yawn.
“Won’t your family notice you’re missing?”
I feel the rise in his shoulders when he shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. I’m the child that misbehaves, remember? They probably figure I’m with Bastian or one of my other buddies. They won’t really worry unless I don’t come home again tonight.”
“Must be nice,” I mutter. “I doubt my Hollow so much as batted an eyelash when I went missing.”
“Well, whether they think you left of your own free will or not, we’re going to get you back to them.” He rolls our bodies forward, and I groan when my body takes on the vertical position. “Come on, sleepy. You’ve got a lot to do this week to get your strength up.”
“This week?” I ask, moving to lean on my hands as Jack removes himself as my support system.
“Yep. We’re not going to push the number of days we’re willing to wait before Finley shows up again. He could be a jerk and come back in a week instead of two weeks this time. I want you gone and out of here before he even entertains the thought of coming to see you again.” He offers his hand and I look dumbly at it. “Come on. Up.”
My arm mindlessly obeys the command, and the next thing I know, I’m on my feet, with practically an inch separating our bodies. He’s slow to release my hand, his eyes lingering on mine, and I smile at the affection.
“All right. Start walking. Go as long as you can without pulling a muscle or cutting your feet. You’re literally going to have to run away from here. Hopefully, they won’t catch on too quickly, and you’ll get some distance in between you and the spriggans before they start flying after you.”
He gives me a playful push to get me moving, and once again I groan. I’m still pretty tired and I doubt I’ve eaten anything in a few days. Right on cue, my stomach rumbles and vibrates my lower abdomen.
“I’ll fly home and get you something to eat. Keep walking,” he demands, pointing his finger at me as he lifts out of here.
I huff and make my first pass around the hole. “Slave driver.”
I count ninety-two laps before Jack returns with provisions. I’m practically drooling as I watch him unpack a canteen of butternut squash soup, two yeast rolls, strawberries and bananas covered in some sort of red glaze, and a cup of mixed nuts.
“Try to eat it all sometime today. I want you as nourished and energized as possible when it’s time to go.”
Eat all that? No flippin’ problem! I practically knock him off his feet to get to the smorgasbord. I head straight for the roll, tearing off a piece and letting it dissolve on my tongue. “Your sister really knows how to make good bread. Definitely one thing I’ll miss around here.”
Chuckling, he teases, “The food is all you’re going to miss?”
Squatting on the ground, I gum another piece of bread before I find the courage to meet his eyes and answer. “No. I’ll miss you most of all. I wouldn’t even be alive if you hadn’t been assigned to watch over me. So I guess I should thank you for that.”
His smile is weak. Maybe he meant that question to be rhetorical. Or maybe he thought I wouldn’t have the courage to mention him in my response. Either way, he seems a little uncomfortable with my answer. And here I thought we were finally moving past that.
“Thank me when I get you out of here. Which won’t be easy. I’ve got some serious research and planning to do.”
His wings flutter and I jump to my feet, a swarm of bees suddenly stinging my insides as I gasp. “Wait! You’re leaving again?”
“Yeah. I can’t plan your escape here, Rosalie. I need to observe the spriggans’ routines, gather supplies for your journey, then figure out how I’m going to get a pixie past spriggans and faeries without drawing attention. I’ve got a lot to do and I want you safely out of here in a week.”
A week! Can he even do all that in a week?
“So when will I see you again?” I ask, fighting hard to hide the panic screaming within.
“Rosalie, I’ll still come by each morning and evening to give you rations and fresh buckets. I wish I could be here all day with you, but I just can’t right now. But don’t worry. Chances are slim anyone’s going to show up to give you a hard time. Just keep building up your leg strength.”
I feel a slight tremble in my limbs when he steps toward me and embraces me in a light hug. Man, three inches difference sucks when we stand! He curls to rest his chin atop my head, and I place my forehead just below his chest. Thump, thump, thump his heart goes. As I wrap my arms slowly around his hips, I swear the thumping speeds up slightly.
For once the butterflies aren’t madly flapping around in my abdomen, but lightly flittering in place, as if dazed as much as I am right now. Who would’ve thought his hold would have such a calming effect on me?
“Just think, Rosalie.”
“Hmm?” I murmur.
“In a week you’ll be stepping on dirt and grass and breathing in fresh air. Taking baths in a river instead of splashing yourself with water in a bucket. And you can eat whatever you can forage.”
But I won’t have you, I think. Because you’re not going to leave your family and your home to be with me. I know that I should push my way out of his grasp and begin the process of breaking away, sparing my heart of further longing for something unattainable…but I just can’t. Not yet.
My legs are a little stiff from everything I’ve put them through the past several days. I’ve made three-thousand, two hundred and sixty-five passes around my hole – yeah, I counted…it keeps me from focusing all my attention on the fullness of Jack’s lips, the wavy hair as brown as the bark on a weeping willow, his hypnotizing mossy green eyes, his… Dang it!
Yesterday began my new ritual of leg squats. I didn’t really understand what they were until Jack demonstrated them – most fae don’t bother strengthening their legs, since it’s our wings that really support our weight. Now I regret taking these on. My legs have never ached so much in my life! And it’s awkward to sit on the floor and stretch them out without poking myself with a rocky protuberance. Walking continuous circles helps, but I still feel the pull when I overextend my step.
So I’ve been a complete chicken when it comes to looking at my wings. I couldn’t resist a fearful peek that first day. What I saw was devastating. Today when I find the courage to peek again, my heart continues to break. The outer cartilage that keeps my wings strong and shaped is completely mangled, with so many breaks I dare not count. The intricate pattern of veins and crossveins is completely shredded, and I fear they’ll never align and heal to their former glory. How can I move forward without wings? The magic coursing through our wings define who the fae are. Am I to be the only pixie in my Hollow doomed to walk the forest floor the rest of my years? Never tiptoe across the forest canopy or walk on water again? I glance at my wings and fear the answer is yes. If I ever considered myself an outsider amongst pixies before, I’m sure a lack of wings will put a permanent stamp on it. Caution – this pixie broken in every way possible.
Lifting my spirits, I grin ear to ear when I see what Jack brings me to eat today. Roasted and salted cucumber seeds! I pop a few into my mouth and moan. I know they’re delectable, but they’re too mild in flavor for my taste buds to pick up on. I really hope that returns soon. I don’t want to live the rest of my life eating tasteless calories, or having to put something extremely pungent on my food just to catch a whiff of flavor.
“So I brought something for you to look at.”
That piques my curiosity as I grab a piece of sourdough bread to pick at. Jack pulls a piece of aged parchment from his satchel and unfolds it six times, revealing a large drawing done by hand. He sits beside me so we can look on together. I’m in awe over what I see: a map displaying the location of a ton of Hollows, the rivers that flow through our lands and the trails that seem to connect us all. By the wear on the paper and aged edges, this drawing could have been made hundreds of years ago, so I have the distinct feeling Jack isn’t supposed to have this in his possession.
“So many Hollows. I never dreamed there were so many!” Elm, Ash, Lauralyn, Willow, Cedar – the Hollows are endless on this piece of parchment, and each depicted with the drawing of the pixie in the correct skin-tone in front of their corresponding tree type. I see my Hollow, Holly’s (Ash) and Juniper’s (Birch). Funny…I don’t see Willow’s color depicted anywhere on here. “I always knew there were more of us out there, especially since some disappeared,” I pause at that, wondering how many were enslaved and didn’t leave at their own volition, “but I never thought there would be so many Hollows.”
“I wonder why your own Hollow didn’t tell you that.”
“I don’t know. Maybe they thought a lot more pixies would leave in search of them if they knew. Where are we on this map right now?”
“Well, it only shows pixies, but my best guess is right around here,” he says, poking his finger at the forest on the left side of the map, far from any Hollow.
“Oh, wow,” I cheerlessly reply, assessing the distance between here and my Hollow. “I don’t know what the distance scale is on this map, but that looks like a long way to go on foot.”
“It is,” he says, sighing. “About a hundred and fifty kilometers I think.”
“A hundred and fifty kilometers!” I scream. “Might as well make it a million! I can’t walk that!”
�
��I’m thinking you won’t have to. Look,” he says gently, motioning me to follow his finger as it traces the map. “There’s a river that flows most of the way. You’ll have to walk quite a ways to get there, but your legs will be as fresh as they can be. Follow this trail until it bends and keep walking straight through the forest to hit the river. Once you’re there, make a raft and travel all the way to here, right before the waterfall. Then you’ll have to pick up on this trail to take you the rest of the way. It’s definitely going to take some time getting there on foot, but it’s not impossible, Rosalie.”
Mother Nature, that’s far. I hide it well, but I’m already feeling a little defeated inside. And that’s just the traveling part. I’ll still have to forage for food, find safe places to rest – because without wings, I could very well end up an easy meal for some carnivore hunting in the woods. Then there’s those monstrous beasts guarding the prison.
“What about the spriggans? Will they come after me?”
“Best guess…” he says, pausing to think as he absently rubs his chin and squints his eyes. “Probably. Finley won’t be able to risk you telling any Hollow that they’ve been swiping pixies for slave labor. And I’m not going to lie, Rosalie. Spriggans are pretty dumb, but they know how to survive…and track. Once you’re in the river, I don’t think they’ll be able to pick up your scent, but I suggest any time you’re in the forest, smear your skin with any kind of scented flower you can find. And change it often so they won’t know what to follow. But never for one second think you’re safe. Always be looking over your shoulder and be suspicious of anything your instincts are picking up on.”
I can’t help but dwell on the number of times he uses the words your or you’re. . You’re going to have to find your way. You’re going to have to find shelter and food. You, you, you. Not a single we’re in the bunch.