“What you doin’ over thar?” he asked, causing the others to pause and look at their fumbling partner.
The squat brownie pushed himself out of the can with the expired egg salad sandwich hanging from his mouth. “Got hungry.”
“So you eat the human’s trash?” Grem asked, his beady eyes nearly disappearing in the wrinkles from his furrowed brow. “The missus packed a feast, and you’ll eat the trash. No wonder Mably is always scowlin’ at you.”
Thenli waved away the complaint. “Fifteen cent’ries is enough time fer her to know you eat more her cookin’ than I does. Now let me have this piece, and you can have her beetle custard.”
Salin shook his head. “Enough! We’re wastin’ time, eat up and get back at it. Don’t know how we’ll be done by moning.”
“Don’t need to be,” replied Esten, looking up from his pine needle salad. “We can leave something fo’ the human to do.”
A trio of hisses through broken and gapped teeth broke the silence. Grem started to sputter, the custard running thick into his beard, and Thenli had forgotten the sandwich. Salin set down his mug and walked over to the young brownie, setting a hand on his shoulder.
“I knows you’ve been a long time from the surface, but are you daft?” he asked sincerely with a shake of his balding head. “We’re brownies. Fixin’s what brownies do, and we don’t leave a job half-finished for a human to screw up the rest. Now think about that while you clean that carburetor.” He took the bowl away from Esten. “Think of your stomach as the job and how much better it’d be if you’d finished this,” he said as he tossed the bowl to Thenli who quickly poured the contents into his mouth.
The artist chewed on the needles as he made his way to the paint shelf. He spit a gob of the half-chewed green stuff out at Thenli’s feet. “Too much sap. Got to not pick ‘em so young.”
Esten noticed Salin’s nod and wondered if it had been the needles or himself that the comment was meant to be about. Looking forlornly at the green goo that slid toward the drain grate, he picked up the carb. Looking over his shoulder where Thenli was deciding on a color, he asked, “How’s he gonna get that primed and painted before dawn?”
“F.M.” Grem and Salin replied in unison. Then Salin continued, “If you don’t get going there’s going to be a lot more F.M. needin’ to be done. Now where’s that exhaust tape?”
“Wrapping the exhaust already?” Grem grumbled. “Haven’t even got the heads on! You checked the timing, right?”
Salin rolled his eyes. “How the ‘ell am I supposed to do that when you ain’t even got the top end on? Take that manual when we leave so you learn something!”
Grem hunched his shoulders and stared at the valve spring keeper in his hand. “Don’t need no book to tell me you’re hasslin’ me tonight. Din’t bother to look at the crosshatch when I laid down these cylinders. Pure art there! But you’ll not pay it no mind. Thenli gets the praise.” Looking at the painter, who was pulling a chair over to reach a paint can he called, “You figure it out?”
“Yup, got it handled. Time to turn up the F.M.!” he called back cheerfully. “Thinkin’ charcoal gray with some yellow pinstripes. Maybe even add some teal to it. Nothin’ fancy. As the boss said, it’s goin’ on the dirt.”
Salin covered a yawn and began running the wiring. He was thankful it was strictly a racer. Less wires to worry about, since all lighting had long been eliminated. He’d been searching hard to find this shop. He’d seen Beau’s work. All fancy custom work, meant for shows and prizes, but this pile of iron was almost too simple for the radical concepts that had once rolled out of here. The Ironhead was a workhorse, not a show pony.
Salin’s troupe specialized in old iron. They had the code of the brownies behind them. They’d fix what needed fixing. That was in their blood, but a job like this was getting rare—too many fancy gadgets on the new bikes, not enough iron and grease.
Grem finished bolting the cylinders heads into place and started on the rocker boxes. “What time this guy start his day?”
Salin looked up from the switch housing he was soldering. “With what was left on this, I’d say, he’ll be in early. I give us two maybe three hours. Want to checklist?”
“You actually do those?” asked Esten. “I’d wager there’s at least five hours of work left!”
“And four of us! Ain’t you finished jetting that thing yet?” Grem asked in a low growl before he started working a bit faster. “Got to get the timing done on the engine once I get the rockers bolted up and the pushrods in place. Next the carb and exhaust; can’t do much more without the tank.” He set down his ratchet, rubbing his hand across his forehead, leaving a greasy smear. “Looks like you got the controls under control.”
Salin allowed himself a laugh. “Yes, but until you get that engine done, I can’t check any of it. Thenli, go make sure the battery is topped off on the charger. No use doing all this and having that be dead in the long run.”
The three outside the paint booth scrambled to complete the heart of the motorcycle. Everything in regards to the engine and gearcase was done; they mounted up the exhaust, freshly wrapped in grey to match Thenli’s paintjob. Grem checked the rotation of the bars and made the call to drop the triple trees to grease the bearings before finishing the front end. Esten found himself pushed aside while the two older brownies went through their own mental checklists, sometimes bumping into one another as they thought of the same detail.
The sun was just breaking the horizon when Thenli stepped out of the paint booth. He coughed and wheezed before flipping on the exhaust to vent the room. He spun around and sat down at the door. “Shoulda done that sooner.”
“You think?” asked Grem as he rushed past him to grab the tank to bolt it in place. While he and Salin ran the fuel lines and checked that everything was in place, Esten brought the front and rear fenders. He was just about to attach the skinny front one to the forks when Grem stopped him with a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“Think we should leave this one off?” Grem asked Salin as he took the front fender out from the young brownie.
“After all the hard work Thenli put into it? Look at that pinstripe! All the swirls,” Salin paused and looked at the nearly incapacitated artist. “Did you put your family crest into that?”
“Yup,” Thenli mumbled and rolled onto his side. “If those humans can brand their shit, I can brand me art.”
Grem snickered and finished testing hooking up the throttle. “He’s done worse.”
Salin nodded and grabbed the gas caddy. Before he could reach the bike, the sound of keys in the lock caused him to halt. The others stopped as well, and even exhausted Thenli was quick to his feet. They left their work where it was and scrambled for the drainage grate—careful to set it quietly in place before the door opened and the lights flickered on.
“Sam, I appreciate the help, but really, five in the morning?” Beau asked as he swung the door open and dropped his keys on the shelf beside it.
“Hey, man, I’m sorry for getting you out of bed, I just got anxious,” Sam said as they entered the shop. “You didn’t sound too confident on the phone.”
“Do you realize what you left me with? The thing’s nasty to begin with, and now it’s…” he stopped as stared at the lift and the nearly completed bike on it.
“What the hell, Beau? You told me mine was the only project you’re working on.” Sam gaped and took a few cautious steps to his bike.
“Th…th…that’s your bike, Sam,” Beau replied, running a hand through his already messed hair. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
Sam turned on the petcock and pumped the throttle before turning the key and pressing the button. The starter whirred, the sound loud enough to cover the loud gasps from four hidden watchers. The jackshaft didn’t catch right away, but before he could try the kick pedal, cracking exhaust masked the collective sigh of relief from the brownies who turned away—thankful that they had got it right even without testing.
“You fixed the electric start?” Sam asked as he looked over the bike from front to back; his hand running over the fresh clear coat without causing a wrinkle.
Thenli glared at Grem for waiting to the last second to send out the corrective spell that had caused the starter to engage. Before Grem could respond, Salin pulled them back farther into the drainage system, while Esten quietly lowered the grate into place.
Sam was grinning wide, and had to step away to let the machine idle so he wouldn’t flood it. “How’d you do it? It sounds like pure iron fury! Seriously, I’ve been tuning her for years, and she usually kicks back hard. What’s your secret?”
Beau stayed back, shaking his head. “It’s F.M. Sam. If you saw how I left it, you’d understand. It’s fucking magic.”
Fairy Rules
“Every child must remember laying his head in the grass, staring into the infinitesimal forest and seeing it grow populous with fairies” ~ Robert Louis Stevenson
Chapter 1
The chill was returning to the air. The cold bite of winter whispered gently through the trees and swept through Bella's white hair, making her silver eyes water. Her wings flitted as quickly as a hummingbird’s behind her and kept her flying in a level stance as she watched. Soon her subject would cease coming, because the ground would be blanketed in snow and the wildlife would be scarce, and she would be away in another forest. Despite her pale coloring, she was a spring grower and not meant to be out in such climates.
For now, the human male, Scott, stood mere feet away with his face buried in a camera viewer. His brown hair was longer and tussled over the front of the camera. Had he been looking up, she would have been able to see into the crystal blue of his eyes. It had been his eyes that had drawn her attention when he had begun to photograph the forest this past summer cycle.
Bella had been watching him for months. She longed to know what it would feel like to be cradled in his hands the way he held his camera. Or to know what it would be like to have the lopsided smile he got when he got the perfect picture aimed at her.
Some fairies would have broken the rules and gone to him. Sure, they were small, but they weren't invisible. If they flew in front of someone's face, they would be seen—all ten inches of fairy and glimmering wings that reflected the sun or the moon when it touched them. But she wasn't one of those fairies. She was dutiful and obeyed the laws of her people, watching him from behind bushes, tree branches and even nestled in flowers near where he shot his images.
The wind picked up and the cold sent a shiver through her, she rubbed her hands over her arms to help with the chill. She should return back to the living quarters and retire until the spring dawning. She was a nature fairy; everyone in her forest was. They cared for the land during specific seasons and the animals within it, like protectors. She was not meant to remain in the cold, she should not have stayed through the fall change, but she could not tear herself from the human male.
His gaze lifted from the camera at that precise moment, and his eyes locked on her form. She froze. Her wings stopped their beating, and she plummeted from her spot, crashing through the bushes. She felt the sting of scratches as the branches on the bush scrapped across her bare shoulders and legs. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Scott wouldn't hear the noise, but others might, and she didn't want to get caught staring at a human.
She slammed into the dirt ground and grunted softly. Pain weaved its way up through her leg as it folded underneath her. Stars danced across her vision, and she prayed it wasn't broken. Her wings had been safe as she fell feet first so should it be broken she would not be helpless but for now she wished to let her breath return and the pain to stop.
The ground shook and her head darted up. Scott was racing towards her. He must have seen her fall, probably thought she was a small bird or something. For a moment she smiled, thinking how sweet it was that he would think to care for an injured animal. Then she remembered the consequences for interacting with a human and forced her wings to flutter and flew off quickly, zooming past his check and flying up into the barren branches of the nearest tree. Bella's heart was pounding in her chest at the almost accident as watched Scott search the tree line and shrug before turning around and heading back to where he had left his camera.
She sighed and tried to move her foot, it moved and she blew out the breath she'd been holding when her whole leg did as well. Pain wasn't an issue; she would find a healer when she returned to the mushroom circle they lived within, but she wanted to watch him a little longer. Just this one last day, then she would abide by the laws and stay warm and tucked away from him for the winter.
"Bella!" The deep voice buzzed in her ears, and she turned to see Elerin, one of the elder's warriors, flying towards her at full speed. His bow and arrow were cocked and murder reflected in his eyes.
Not returning to living quarters when their season ended was not a criminal offense, but the look in his eyes made her blood run cold. She closed her eyes, praying for it to be quick, and then felt the frozen air as he whizzed past her. She followed after him in time to realize Scott was his intended target. Fear gripped her and she sped up. The poison on the warrior's arrow wouldn't be enough to kill the human—assuming he only used one. Dipped into the glands of various poisonous animals, to a fairy, one prick was fatal. To a human, it would be damaging, but akin to feeling sick.
That didn't mean she wanted Scott to be shot. That was the punishment for humans who saw fairies—they were shot enough times to kill them. The thought of it happening to Scott sickened her, and her eyes widened in horror as she saw three arrows fly simultaneously from Elerin's bow. They flew with grace and perfection, embedding into Scott's neck.
"No! Elerin, stop it's not what you think it is! He's never laid eyes upon me!" Her words were swallowed in the wind, and she slammed into his back with her shoulder in an attempt to dislodge the next round of arrows.
Scott yanked the arrows from his neck and was turning when Elerin grabbed her hand and flew them into the bush cover.
His words were laced with anger, but his voice was quiet and full of stupid fear that a human could hear them. "Stay here. Do not come out, and do not dare attack me again. You will face trial for that, fiancé or not."
His words tore at her, they were betrothed, had been since they were younglings, but due to her request to mature more, they were not wed. She held no ill will towards him, and until Scott had appeared, had even fancied him and their time together, but this fairy male was Elerin the warrior, not Elerin the lover.
She warred inside her mind, torn at listening to Elerin—as was the law—or trying to stop him again. She heard Scott grunt and yelp in pain more times than she wanted to count before Elerin slowly and calmly flew back into the bushes where he had left her.
"It is done." His eyes held none of the rage from moments ago, nor did they hold the smiling compassion in which he typically regarded her. "Bella, you are not under arrest for your crimes, but you are condemned to remain within the mushroom circle once the spring season dawns. Your services and powers will be bound for the season as punishment for remaining gone for more than your season and covert relations with a human. We will not speak on our engagement at this time, I do not wish to think of wedding a traitor, but I will not let my family down." He walked off the branch and flew away, back in the direction of the circle.
She had a choice to make. Fly back with Elerin and not think of the death Scott now faced, or use her magic for one day as a human to save him.
Chapter 2
Scott was baffled. He couldn't even pretend to understand what had just happened. Fifteen of the tiniest arrows he had ever seen rested in the palm of his hand. He'd been shot at by god only knows what. "Seriously though, what could shoot such tiny arrows? What could even make them?" He rolled his fingertip over the little arrows. They'd barely felt like anything more than a needle prick, but he couldn't understand why or how.
He'd been coming to the forest for months. Profe
ssional photography had always been his goal, and he was stuck shooting snotty kids and lovey dovey couples at the studio in the mall. Coming to the forest was the only time he got to shot for himself. He loved the beauty of the forest, from the tall, sprawling trees to the tiny colored flowers that peaked out from behind rocks but were hidden inside bigger bushes. Nature was his favorite thing to shoot, and the forest was the only place he ever wanted to shoot it.
However, he hadn't been coming for so long just because it was beautiful. He'd seen something early in June. Something had caught his eye, a glimmering a little ways off. It wasn't just once, either. Whatever the animal was, it seemed to find him every time he showed, but never let itself be caught on camera. Now he was beginning to wonder if it was a creature after all.
"Don't be crazy, there's nothing human that small and certainly not living in the middle of the forest." He tossed the arrows to the ground and picked his camera back up. His vision blurred for a just a moment, and he shook his head, forcing it back into focus. He'd never had any trouble with his vision before. Maybe he'd been out too long and just needed to grab a bite.
Carefully, he put the camera back in its bag and hoisted it onto his shoulder. He looked around again, searching for the culprit of the small arrows and the beautiful creature he'd seen for a second before it had fallen. It had to have been a bird of some sort. It had definitely been in mid air when he'd locked onto it before it had fallen. But there was nothing with him in the forest, not here at least. The winter wind whipped up a few leaves in the distance and made him wish he'd worn ear muffs or a beanie, but no animals stirred.
"Keep it up; sooner or later whatever it is you're seeing will let you photograph it."
He started walking, and the trees distorted into blurred shapes with no definition. He squeezed his eyes shut just as a wave of queasiness passed over him. He forced himself to take a deep breath, but it didn't help. The feeling only intensified as he sat down. Scott fought back a wave of bile in the back of his throat, and he realized he wasn't just hungry. Something had been in those tiny arrows, and there was no ignoring that it was an attack, but from what?
Tales of the Fairy Anthology Page 10