Mawr flattened himself to the forest floor. “Climb upon my back, little one. Your legs are so small… I can travel much faster.”
“Thank you.”
Emma grinned at him before hauling herself up to sit on his back. His enormous neck wouldn’t let her ride him like a horse, she’d wind up in a full splits. Instead, she sat between his shoulder blades, feet tucked to one side. Fur tickled her legs, but guilt at making her family worry mixed with her fear at what may await her in this place kept her from laughing. She fidgeted, scratching here and there when the shaggy fur made her think bugs walked on her skin.
“Go in a circle around the grove, spiraling out, please.”
The forest raced by faster than she could run, despite Mawr moving at an even walk. At his size, each stride covered great swaths of ground. She held two handfuls of fur, leaning from side to side to peer at the ground.
“What are you searching for?” asked Mawr.
“Tracks on the ground, marks on the trees, or”―she gulped―”anything dead.”
hirty or so faeries emerged from the Elder Grove at the sight of Mawr’s approach, several glowing with a gathering of eldritch magic. Emma waved from atop his back and their hostility changed to bewilderment. Pimlin, ankle-long pink hair trailing behind her, zoomed over and hovered before Emma’s face. Her amethyst eyes gleamed with fear, but a little hope crept in as well.
“Harmed this bear has us… but calmed you it?” Pimlin lowered her spear at Neema’s nod.
Emma yawned. “His name is Mawr, and he had bad magic on him that made him angry. It’s gone now.”
“Removed you it?” asked Pimlin.
“I asked Strixian for his help and he listened.” Emma glanced up at the darkening sky. “It’s almost night.”
Pimlin glided around Mawr’s face, seeming afraid to get too close. “Different seems. Into the Elder Grove he should not go, but tolerate close we will. Too large. Will destroy by being.”
Emma nodded.
“Sleep for you now.” Pimlin pointed at a spot a short distance from the round wall of trees encircling the grove, where a dense hang of branches formed a roof of leaves.
Mawr meandered over to the shrouded area of thick, mossy carpet. A scattering of orange, pink, and white flower clusters decorated the trees, tulip-like cups surrounded by long, wispy petals that floated in the breeze.
Marsten’s shop doesn’t have these. Would Nan know what they are?
She let out an uneasy whine, nearly tumbling off as the bear lurched forward and lowered himself to the ground.
Once he settled, Emma slid down from her perch upon his back, landing into a stumble that dumped her on her knees. Perching for hours on his back left her legs sore, and they didn’t want to hold her weight. Wincing, Emma rolled around to sit and leaned against the soft, warm fur behind her.
“Moment,” chirped Neema, before gliding off.
I’m sorry, Mama. Emma curled on her side and cuddled into the huge bear, half the world obscured by a face full of brown fur. The stars had come out, and the air filled with an odd clicking symphony. She assumed insects made the noise, as it had the rhythmic, repetitive nature of crickets but lacked a ‘tweeting’ quality―more like an army of Tams continuously breaking handfuls of twigs.
Mawr would provide warmth and comfort for her to sleep, but she longed to be home with her family. She wondered if Nan and Kimber had finished the stew without her. Would Da be racing around Widowswood desperate to find her? Kimber had to be in tears. She imagined Mama holding Tam tight to keep him from running off in search of her too.
Emma curled up against Mawr’s side and wept.
“Return,” said Neema. “Here… eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” mumbled Emma.
Something brushed her shin. A moving silver-white glow glided around in front of her face. “Crying why?” Neema landed sitting in fur and reached over to wipe tears.
Emma sniffled. “I miss my family. They’re going to be scared and worried about me. You promised I would only be gone for a few minutes.”
“Yes.” Neema grinned, nodding. “Minutes few. Worry not you do.” She zipped out of sight and back in a blink, holding a cake the size of a huge grape. “Food.”
“Umm.” Emma sat up and took the cake between two fingers. “Is this going to do something bad to me? Trap me here forever? Can you please tell my family where I am?”
“As long to tell as you to help. Not they sad are.” Neema shook her head, making her gossamer silver-white hair dance about. “To wicked things only. Steal from who us hurt or.” She put a hand over her heart. “Word my give. No tricks.”
A strong scent of fruit wafted from the cake, mixed with cardamom and ginger. Emma’s stomach growled, but her mind echoed with Nan’s advice not to eat faerie food. She opened her mouth, overcome by hunger, but at the thought of never being able to go home again, she bowed her head and cried.
Neema pouted. “Trusting can me you.”
“I’m sorry.” Emma cradled the little cake in both hands. “The worst thing I can think of happening is never seeing my family again… I’m just scared. Nan told me eating faerie food is going to curse me.”
The faerie’s hurt look shifted to determination. She zipped away, a comet of white light zigzagging among the trees. Emma glanced at what had brushed her leg. A large leaf folded into a bowl sat nearby, filled with similar cakes. She sniffed at the grape-sized pastry, and her stomach growled in response. It smells so good, but…
Twin trails of light, one white and one flame red, shot out from between two of the grove wall trees and came toward her. Emma bit her lip, staring at the miniscule comets. Neema, with Queen Nymira at her side, floated over and hovered nearby.
“Emma…” The queen spoke in a soothing, motherly tone. “It is true that consuming faerie food can have… interesting effects on humans. It can curse them such that they must remain in our realm and can never leave. It can make them see things that aren’t there… lose years in the blink of an eye, or make someone quite sick indeed.” She shook her head. “All the magic weaved by faeries in this grove is subject to my will. As Queen of the Silverbell Faeries, I give you my word that no curse shall befall you from our hospitality.”
“I’m sorry, Queen Nymira.” Emma bowed her head. “It was rude of me to doubt.”
“Be at ease. You are still a child, and I shall not think less of you for such minor lapses in etiquette.” Nymira started to smile, but leaned closer, squinting at Emma. “Hmm. Well, how about that?”
Emma stuffed the little cake in her mouth and chewed. The strength of its fruity-ginger-spiced flavor startled her; she eyed the leaf-bowl, intent on devouring all of them. She shifted the half-chewed cake to the side of her mouth so she could speak. “Hmm? About what?”
Nymira drifted closer and put a hand on Emma’s forehead. “Yes… I do think so.” She smiled. “You needn’t worry. There is a little elven blood in you… or something similar. Old spirit.”
“I’m not a half-elf.” Emma felt her rather rounded ear.
“No…” Nymira chuckled. “You are not. Not that much elf, but I bet you had an Astari―or perhaps an alderswood dryad―somewhere in your lineage. Do people in your family seem to live for a long time?”
“Umm.” Emma picked another cake from the bowl and popped it in her mouth. Nan’s story about Princess Isabelle did make her wonder. If Mama had been Emma’s age when Isabelle was fifteen, Mama should be a lot older than she is. Queen Isabella had to be almost fifty, which… if Mama was nine when the story happened, she’d be halfway through her forties, but as far as Emma knew, her mother was twenty-seven. She’d given birth to Emma soon after she married Da, and she’d married at seventeen. “I think, maybe… but I don’t know if it’s just a story.”
Emma’s eyes widened. What if Nan is like really, really old? Those stories about the forest witch stealing children who don’t grow up… could people have been seeing Mama growing up reeeeeally slow a
nd mistaking her for different kids? She rubbed her forehead, already tired from thinking about such things. If that were true, then she’d have taken a lot longer than ten years to become a ten-year-old.
I don’t understand. She yawned. “If I was part elf, wouldn’t I still be little while all the other children from Widowswood grew up?”
“Perhaps… but you are not an elf. As children, they age perhaps one year for every twenty that pass… in human terms. When they reach adulthood, they do not age as humans do, but remain youthful for many thousands of years. Humans appear older”―Nymira traced her hand in a curve―”in a gradual march from infant to crone. Elves grow up”―she traced a diagonal line upward to a long flat stretch, then a gradual upward slant―”and stay the same for a long time. When they become very old, they start to show some signs of age, but not like humans.” She winked. “No wrinkles.”
“What about faeries?” The next cake Emma ate blasted her with a strong, sharp sweetness that reminded her of eating an entire lemon at once if it had been magicked to be sweet instead of sour. She coughed. “There’s no children in your grove.”
“Faeries rarely have babies. A group like ours may see one birth every four hundred years. They grow up about as fast as an elf, and we stay the same forever.”
“Wow,” whispered Emma. “You don’t grow old and uhh, die?” She blushed. “Sorry.”
“No matter, you are curious.” Nymira smiled. “We can die from any cause that might kill a human, but old age is not one of them.”
“Eight thousand years Queen Nymira is.” Neema grinned.
The queen scoffed. “I’m 7,612, thank you very much.” She fluffed at her hair and muttered, “Eight thousand indeed.”
Emma blinked, unable to imagine that many years. “Wow.”
“As I was saying.” Nymira leaned in to study Emma’s face. “Perhaps since the fey ancestor is so removed, you may be hurtling to adulthood as fast as any normal human might, but once you get there, it may take a while for you to grow old.” She winked.
Emma ate a few more treats and licked sticky off her hands. Despite the cakes’ small size, she felt as full as if she’d eaten a proper meal. I should ask Nan if they’re supposed to do that. “Thank you for teaching me about elves, and for these cakes. They are lovely!”
Nymira nodded once, slow. “You have broken whatever curse affected this bear. Perhaps you may be able to save us after all. For that, you have my thanks. May you sleep well.”
Emma yawned. She wanted to sleep, but a pang of homesickness promised to keep her staring at stars for a long time. She stood and curtseyed at the queen. “Thank you.”
Smiling, Nymira flew off, back inside the grove.
“Sleepy.” Neema curled up in Mawr’s fur.
The great bear already seemed to be snoring.
Emma snuggled into his side. Her mind ran off with guilt, imagining her family in a furor over being unable to find her. For minutes, she stared into the vast, night-darkened forest, listening to the clicking of insects and bell-tones of the faeries who glided about like will-o-wisps in the shadows.
“Not sleepy?” asked Neema.
“I’m too worried about my family. I miss them,” whispered Emma.
Neema crawled up to her face. “Wasting time worrying. Fine is Emma family.” She put a tiny hand on the tip of Emma’s nose. “Sleeping now.”
Before Emma could think a single word, she plunged into a quiet, restful sleep.
mma awoke to the warmth of the sun caressing her cheek. She yawned and tried to sit up, but her body didn’t want to move. With great effort, she forced her leaden muscles to cooperate, and stretched her arms and legs while sitting. After a powerful yawn, she collapsed against Mawr’s side, unable to lift even one finger.
“What’s wrong with me?”
Neema pushed herself up out of the dense brown fur, peering at Emma from beneath a twisty cobweb of white hair. Mama sometimes complained about what sleep did to her hair, but she had never looked even a quarter as messy as the faerie. Neema swayed, her eyes half open. She looked so disoriented, she might not have even remembered her own name.
Emma giggled.
Neema gazed into space for a few seconds before she sneezed, and her hair whirled back to a perfect, straight cascade. “Mornings!”
“Was that a spell?” asked Emma?
“The sleepy?” Neema flashed a cheesy grin.
Emma narrowed her eyes. “That too, but I meant your hair.”
“That’s faerie.” Neema winked. “Was spell sleepy too.”
She stared down at limp arms draped across her lap. “Why can’t I move?”
“Still sleepy. Much tired you were. Gone be it soon.” Neema stood, arms out over her head, and stretched.
Emma yawned.
Mawr emitted a series of low rumbling noises. As he stood out from behind her, Emma flopped flat on her back like a dead fish. No amount of wanting could coax even one finger to twitch.
She yawned again. “Strixian, please grant me the Wildkin Whisper.”
“…rning Emma,” muttered Mawr.
“Mafindwel,” said Emma.
“Hmm?” Mawr twisted around to peer at her. “I do not understand.”
She grinned. “It’s something humans say where I am from. It means ‘may the day find thee well.’”
He bowed his head in a slow nod. “I hear.”
Emma propped herself up on her elbows. “Don’t you mean ‘I see?’”
“Humans are strange creatures,” said Mawr. “How do they see words?”
“No…” Emma grinned. “I see means I understand.”
“Then why not say I understand?” Mawr scratched his head. “Or do humans think with their eyes?”
Emma sputtered. “Forget it.”
“Why should I forget what you have just explained to me?” Mawr blinked.
Argh! “Sometimes humans use words that mean something other than what they sound like they mean. I said ‘forget it,’ but what I meant was I don’t know how to explain seeing and understanding to you, and I am still too tired to think about such difficult things. I can’t even move my fingers right now, please don’t make me think.”
“Ahh. I understand, or see.” Mawr shook his head, chuckling.
A female faerie with cherry-red hair and a male with black hair glided over, each holding the end of a huge leaf burdened with nuts, berries, and cakes. Behind them, another female with pastel-blue hair and wings carried a smaller leaf-bowl of cakes. She set it down by Emma while the other two offered the rest of the food to Mawr.
The woman who’d carried Emma’s food landed seated on her leg. “Morning good. I am Raa.” A burst of pastel-blue sparkles flew from her wings. “Happy meeting you I am.”
“Pleased to meet you as well.” Emma concentrated, and managed to lift her arm, offering one finger to shake the tiny woman’s hand. “Thank you for bringing me food.”
Raa had tan skin like the rest of the Silverbell Faeries, a shade deeper than walnuts, closer to the wood of Nan’s table, stark in contrast to Emma’s lily-white leg.
Kimber would burst if she saw this place. I wonder if I could ask them to visit her.
Soon, the odd heaviness left her body and Emma sat up. She nibbled on the tiny cakes, which filled her mouth with flavors of plum, berries, gingerbread, and pumpkin. Mawr devoured his offering in two bites, causing Rin and Fila to exchange looks and chatter in faerie. Whatever they said made Neema giggle.
They’re feeding him, and he was trying to hurt them… She scowled. No… whatever made him angry did it.
Raa watched Emma eat for a few minutes before grinning. “Like do cakes you?”
Emma nodded. “They are wonderful. How do they make the flavors so strong?”
“Made I!” Raa stood on Emma’s knee and waved her arms about.
“Thank you. They’re so delicious.” She gently picked the faerie up and hugged her as if cradling a delicate crystal statuette.
&nb
sp; Raa laughed. “Dear friend Neema. Gone for years many. Grateful Raa to you is.”
Emma put a hand on her chest at a sudden upwelling of warmth. “I’m glad I found her.” I was foolish, but I did do some good.
Rin and Fila returned with another burdened leaf, which Mawr took his time with―three bites.
Emma finished the last of her cakes while Raa watched, grinning. I still don’t know what I should do. Where do I start looking for what’s making―?
A chorus of tiny screams rang out from the central grove. All the faeries around her raced off in that direction. Emma leapt to her feet and sprinted after them, grateful that the ground here had no massive roots to climb. Spongy, mossy undergrowth added a bounce to her stride.
Inside the grove, a small army of Silverbell Faeries hovered about six feet from the ground, tossing yellow-white energy bolts at a pack of medium-sized canine creatures with silvery-grey fur. Their tails seemed a bit longer and fluffier, and their ears pointier, but they looked like foxes. In the same way Mawr’s had, their eyes glowed bright red.
Some flung themselves into the air, attempting to snap their jaws on flying faeries, but could not leap to the height the tiny guards hovered. One or two foxes got the idea to jump to the roofs of the spires or bound onto tree trunks and jump again. Two came close to getting their teeth on a faerie. Most of the screaming came from a lemon-haired male who had both of his legs trapped in the mouth of another fox.
That fox locked stares with Emma as if bragging about what it had done. A second later, it trotted off.
“No!” yelled Emma, focusing on the Wildkin Whisper. “Stop trying to hurt the faeries!”
All seven remaining foxes jumped at her shout and snarled at her.
Two energy bolts sparked the ground near one’s forepaw, and it bolted. Panic seemed to spread over the animals, and they trailed off after the one who’d gotten a meal.
Emma ran after them, painfully aware that she’d never catch up. A vision of her mother racing across the town square shrouded in a ghostly panther came to mind. Oh… which spirit did Nan say that was? She leapt a cluster of roots and kept chasing.
Emma and the Silverbell Faeries Page 10