Emma and the Silverbell Faeries

by Matthew S. Cox

  “Wolves. Foxes. Bears. Cats.”

  Emma held her hands about housecat size apart. “Cats?”

  “Bigger,” said Neema.

  “Lions?”

  Neema shrugged. “Riding for big enough you.”

  Emma stopped walking. “I really should tell Nan. This sounds dangerous.”

  “Please!” Neema’s eyes seemed to grow huge again. “Being here is already you. Asking dangerous do you not. Talking animals druid.”

  “What if they don’t listen to me?” Emma shivered at the idea of a lion finding her annoying. The wolves, at least, she hoped would sense her kinship with Ylithir.

  “Protect will Neema you. Faerie small but not weak.” The tiny woman hugged the side of her head. “Letting not harm find you. Talking Nymira Queen you to, and know the everything.”

  “All right. I will talk to your queen, but if it is too much for me, I have to go home. I’m sure Mama or Nan will help you.”

  Neema pointed. “There. Wanting we not do to kill, so Neema remember to animals you talk. Ask stop to them not attack faeries so they do.”

  “You want me to ask the animals why they’re attacking you and get them to stop?”

  “Yes!” Neema grinned. “Want go to war, Silverbells some do. Want queen animals to killing not but.” She twirled a finger around her little pointed ear. “Being not in the senses are they. Belongs them not to the blame, queen says.”

  Kimber is going to be jealous. “I’ll help if I can. Do faeries like tea?”

  Neema grinned. “Faeberry tea!”

  “Umm.” Emma cringed. “Any other kind?”

  “Too being mint good is.”

  “I like mint tea.” Emma hauled herself over another large root.

  After what felt like an hour of traversing the frustrating terrain, Emma got a sense that the roots formed walls on either side of a sort of pathway. It required a lot of weaving and turning, but if she stayed at about the midway point between trees, the larger roots formed a corridor she could follow with a minimum of heavy climbing.

  Purple and blue seeped into the bright green up ahead, and soon, Emma found herself walking among a forest of mushrooms the size of huts.

  “Did you shrink me?” asked Emma.

  “No.” Neema tapped her chest. “Being this tall to me would you be if shrinking you I did.”

  “Wait, you can shrink me?”

  Neema nodded. “Good not doing so done haven’t it, but doing it I can. Want you only if. Don’t can I do if not you want. Neema making tired it will.”

  Emma stared at the faerie for a few seconds, having no idea whatsoever what she just said.

  A vast lake of glowing deep-blue water spread off to the left where a fallen mushroom formed a natural bridge over the river feeding it. Glowing-eyed creatures that resembled brown and white woodchucks the size of housecats peered out of the thick grass on the far side. All of them ducked out of sight as she got closer, and scrambled into the undergrowth. Emma climbed up onto the spongy trunk, which felt like walking on her bed. Arms raised for balance, she crossed. Aside from emitting dark-blue light, the clear water offered a perfect view of the riverbed. It looked too deep for her to stand in, but the glass-like surface suggested a slow current. Round fish, like apples with fins, glided about in no particular hurry. Brilliant yellow, striped with green, some even seemed to be looking at her as if wondering how a human got here.

  Where am I? Oh… I’ve been gone for more than a few minutes. Nan is going to be worried and angry. Why didn’t I go inside to get her? She was only a few steps away… She furrowed her brow at not being able to remember walking from her porch to the circle.

  “Being sad don’t. Helping are you the Faerie. Lives are you saving.”

  “I’m breaking my promise.”

  Neema shook her head. “Minutes. Taking the troubles Neema promise if you get.”

  Emma lowered herself to sit on the squishy mushroom once the bridge reached the far bank. She hesitated for a second before letting herself slide to land on soft dirt. This side of the river had different trees, without the chaotic roots. The dense, gnarled forest remained green and verdant, but offered much easier passage to those who lacked the ability to fly.

  Hardened roots broke the ground here and there, anchoring trees so twisty they looked like one of Nan’s towels in the middle of being wrung out. Long, wide branches started low to the ground and clustered dense, offering easy paths to climb up to their topmost heights.

  Brilliant red birds glided by. Each had twin tails twice the length of their bodies that rippled like ribbons in the air behind them, the tips aglow with the light of embers. When one squawked at another, a small puff of flame spat from its beak.

  Emma gasped.

  “Arriving are almost we.” Neema glided off her shoulder, leaving a sparkling trail of silvery-white energy hanging in the air.

  Emma jogged after the trail. Within a few minutes, a strange ring of close-packed trees became apparent, as if magic had grown them as a wall around something. Yellow and green light with dashes of pink glowed from between the gaps, and the area rang with hundreds of soft bell tones.

  The faerie zipped over to a space in the tree-wall, where a thick tangle of vines had grown into the shape of a gate full of intricate whorls and spirals. At the little woman’s approach, the vines un-grew, crackling and creaking as they retreated to either side. Strands of brown curled back on themselves, clearing the passage. Emma slowed to a walk and crept closer to the wall that encircled an area a little larger than Eoghn’s Inn. Neema smiled and sat once more on her shoulder.

  “Welcome to home Silverbell Faeries of.”

  Emma grasped the tree on the left, and peered in. The sight beyond stole her breath away.

  From where she stood, a faint dirt path led forward, becoming a circular walkway around a crystalline fountain. Dozens of Silverbell Faeries, glowing spots of colored light, glided around or rested within a tiny city on the scale of dollhouses. Their hair varied in color from black to white, pastel blue, teal, silver, and cherry red. Each faerie’s wing color matched their hair, and left trails of magical energy in midair behind them. Flower-bearing vines covered the inner face of the wall-trees, so thick with lichen Emma felt like she stood at the bottom of a massive well.

  Individual buildings nestled among the forest, both freestanding as well as hollowed out from their trunks. Windows and doors spotted most of the trees around the edge, with steps made from shelf mushrooms. Acorn-shaped flowers dangled from thin stems, glowing like miniature streetlamps. Rivulets of water ran from leaves in tiered waterfalls that collected in pools held by cup-shaped purple mushrooms, some large enough that she could bathe within them.

  Beyond the fountain stood a massive tree with a hollowed space at its trunk. Tiny doors and windows corkscrewed around it, going up as high as she could see. Within the gap at the base, a platform of round stones lined the floor of a throne room that appeared made for dolls. Grape-sized flowers hung from the walls inside, emitting pale green light like tiny lamps. A faerie, her bright red hair so long it would drag upon the ground if she walked, sat upon a chair of amethyst, regarding Emma with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

  Emma’s jaw hung open.

  “Welcoming you to the Elder Grove,” said Neema.

  Wow. She stared, speechless.

  Neema tugged on Emma’s hand for a few seconds before zipping around behind her and flying bodily into Emma’s back over and over, trying to shove her. “Forward going. Queen talking to.”

  “It’s so beautiful.” Emma stared at all the faeries circling about, the great trees and delicate spires of miniature buildings.

  About a quarter of the faeries flew; some hovered, while the rest lounged on leaves, mushrooms, or the edges of various natural pools.

  Neema darted into Emma’s face and slapped at her cheeks. “Waking up.”

  Emma went to grab her, but the faerie zipped to the left with a burst of faerie dust tha
t made her sneeze.

  All the bell chimes stopped at once. Dozens of Silverbells all froze in their tracks, staring at Emma in horror as if she were a ravenous lion who’d found a coop full of chickens. A group with spears hurried forward after a momentary hesitation.

  She raised a hand and offered a wave. “Umm. Hello. I’m Emma.” She curtseyed. “May I please talk to your queen?”

  A pink-haired woman bearing a spear tipped with a sharpened chip of amethyst floated up to her face and gave Neema a disappointed look.

  Neema chattered rapidly in a high-pitched language Emma couldn’t understand. After a tiny sigh, the guard-faerie shifted her spear to her left hand and gestured at Emma to move forward.

  mma offered a polite smile to the guard-faerie, not entirely sure how much of a threat a six-inch spear might be. She crept forward into the tiny city, placing her feet with care to avoid stepping on anything that would break.

  Two of the other faeries with spears zipped up into Emma’s face, brandishing their weapons, their wings glowing with sparking energy. They appeared to disagree with the first guard who waved her in.

  Neema chattered at them in the faerie tongue, too fast and indecipherable to tell where one word stopped and the next began. The faerie guards snapped back at her, gesturing at Emma. While she couldn’t tell what they said, she got the feeling they didn’t want her here. Unsure if she should leave or go inside, she stood still, glancing around at the group of tiny shouting people encircling her head. Neema flailed her arms rapidly, gestured at Emma, and rambled in a pleading tone.

  A deeper voice, more akin to that of a small human woman, emanated from the base of the giant hollow tree at the innermost part of the city. All the armed faeries glided back from Emma, and no longer held their spears in a threatening way. After speaking a few words in the faerie’s tongue, the voice switched to the language of Emma’s home. “Come forward, human. I am Queen Nymira of the Silverbell Faeries, and I grant your request to have an audience.”

  Emma gazed at the fountain covered in curious faeries. There appeared to be an even mix of men and women, but not one appeared to be a child or old. Every one of them looked about Mama’s age. Were they human, she’d have thought them all between eighteen and twenty. People often commented her mother looked much younger than her twenty-seven years.

  She tiptoed around the fountain to a lush patch of blue-green grass on the other side, peering at a regal faerie woman sitting upon a throne within the hollowed tree. Aside from extremely long flame red hair and a delicate crown with three emeralds as big as peas, the faerie queen didn’t appear much different from the others: no taller, no older, her wings the same size, and she didn’t wear a massive gown as she’d imagined a faerie queen would.

  The guard-faeries hovered close, as if expecting her to be dangerous. Six more faeries, four female and two male, stood in a row between Emma and the queen, clutching spears, as if they’d be able to stop a human from attacking. All had similar dark tan skin, and seemed distrustful of her.

  “Thank you for allowing me to see your home.” Emma stepped from the grass onto a patch of soft green moss, and knelt with her knees inches away from the edge where the living carpet met the throne chamber’s floor of flat stones. She bowed forward like the characters did in Nan’s stories when meeting royalty.

  More faeries collected around her and behind. One or two seemed familiar, perhaps from the group that had come to enjoy the treats. Some risked touching her. She straightened from her bow, but remained kneeling, and smiled her most earnest smile around at the group.

  One male faerie gawked at her. “Huge.”

  “Human,” whispered a woman next to him.

  The faerie on the throne spoke in a slow, confident tone, her voice deeper than the others. “I am Queen Nymira, and this is my realm. I would know why you have come here.”

  “I’ve been told you are in danger. Animals are attacking and they’re not in their right senses. Neema visited me and asked for help.”

  “Larger should humans I thought be,” said a male guard with black hair in front of her knee.

  The pink-haired female faerie with the spear landed next to him and tapped him on the arm. When he looked at her, she indicated her own shapely chest, then pointed at Emma. “Child she is, Rin. A young child.” She floated up to hover in front of Neema. “Bringing a human child here for why? Time wasting you are.”

  “Helping she can!” yelled Neema. “Pimlin, please!”

  Pimlin shook her head. “Not should you have her here brought. Too young.”

  “An adult human wouldn’t have come here,” said another male with long snow-white hair.

  Neema stared at him. “Imril, she can help!”

  “What do you believe you can do here, child?” asked Nymira.

  Neema zipped in front of Emma’s face. “My Queen, lantern released me this child did from.”

  “This is the one you spoke of?” asked Nymira.

  Neema glided down, alighting on her feet in front of the throne. She sank to kneel, and bowed her head. “Yes. My wings she saved.”

  The mood among the faeries shifted in an instant. Suspicion and distrust exploded into glee. In seconds, Emma wore a coat of adoring, hugging faeries, except for Nymira and her guards.

  It took all of Emma’s concentration not to giggle from the sensation of fifty or sixty sets of faerie wings flitting against her. “Neema told me that animals are trying to hurt your people. She thinks I can talk to them and learn why, maybe stop them.”

  A female faerie with pastel-blue hair and wings glided up to Emma, staring into her left eye as if it were a mirror. “Blue pretty. Saving Neema life, thanking.” The woman hugged her face.

  Emma raised her hands cupped, and the tiny woman accepted the seat. A sense of excitement filled her at getting to hold such a creature; she stiffened, not wanting to accidentally hurt the faerie. “Hello.”

  “There is a dark energy driving the denizens of the woods to become mad with rage.” Nymira bowed her head. “We have had to do things I regret to protect ourselves. My people have lived in harmony with the forest for thousands of years. This imbalance cannot be tolerated. Pimlin is correct. You are a child, and despite your being human, I question if you would even be capable of assisting us.”

  “Yes! Helping Emma can. Talking so know why attack. Change mind even?” Neema gasped and shrank to kneel again. She muttered something in the faerie language that sounded distinctly like an apology.

  Nymira waved at Neema with a slight smile. “I regret that our sister’s enthusiasm for your assistance has brought you here. While you are many times our size, you remain a child. We will not fault you if you wish to return to your home right away.”

  Faeries continued to flit over to touch her hair or whisper thanks for freeing Neema from the lantern. A few of them appeared disappointed at the idea she may leave without helping them, but none more than Neema herself who teetered on the verge of tears.

  I’m already going to get in trouble… what’s a few more minutes? Emma sighed to herself. “I’m already here. I may as well try to help.”

  Neema perked up. After a brief adoring look, she zoomed up from the ground and hugged the side of Emma’s head. “Oh! You thank!”

  “You’re…” Emma scrunched her left eye closed, unsure how to react to having a faerie adhered to her face. “Welcome.”

  Neema zipped around to stand on Emma’s right shoulder, beaming.

  “Very well,” said the Faerie Queen. “Our warriors will protect you, but if, as I suspect, this threat eludes the abilities of a child, I will insist you be brought back to your home.”

  Emma bowed. “I understand.”

  ismissed from Queen Nymira’s audience, Emma wandered along a path of purple glimmering stones around the crystalline fountain. Neema perched on her shoulder while a number of other Silverbell Faeries came and went as curiosity or whim took them.

  The miniature city fascinated her. She marveled
at doors high up the sides of trees with no stairs, patios with giant leaves for roofs, and elevated porches furnished with mushroom chairs. Some of their dwellings weren’t even as tall as she. The miniature buildings did not have solid walls like human houses, rather grown from branches and vines woven together, forming intricate patterns. From one angle, the gaps between branches let her peer right inside, but three steps away, the walls appeared solid.

  Emma forced herself to stop sightseeing. She had come here to help the faeries, and roaming around gawking wouldn’t get her home any faster, nor would it help Neema. She circled once more, hunting for signs of what might be causing animals to attack. Finding nothing, she headed to the gate and outside the ring of trees that encircled the grove. No tiny homes existed beyond the barrier, though several faeries lounged or played on branches. As far as she could see, the too-green forest stretched in all directions, unlike any woodland she had ever heard of.

  Standing there watching the faeries, Emma found herself a touch disoriented and overwhelmed, doubting her eyes that such a massive, beautiful forest could exist. Her situation didn’t make much sense. Why would faeries need a human’s help, especially that of a child? With all Kimber’s talk of faeries, she wondered if she’d fallen asleep at the water pump and simply dreamed all of this. The familiar sense of kinship she’d known with Widowswood had ceased as soon as she’d stepped over the circle of flowers. These woods radiated another kind of energy, noticeably stronger. The trees pulsed with potent magic that sent waves of tingles over her skin from toes to forehead.

  “I’m not dreaming.”

  “Dreaming not,” said Neema. “Help us Emma know I can you.”

  She continued exploring, hunting around for something―anything that looked important, but didn’t have the first idea of where to look. Her instinct sent her on a spiraling path, drifting gradually farther away from the grove as she went around in circles. Soon after she passed the gate for the fourth time, she stopped short at the sight of a burn mark on the side of one of the great trees. If she put her hand on the trunk and walked around it, she could likely count to thirty before she reached where she started. Emma crept up to the spot, a patch at her chest level where something had scorched the coating of emerald lichen black and cored a pit in the wood deep enough to hold her fist.