Emma and the Silverbell Faeries

by Matthew S. Cox

  Neema sat on the ledge, letting her feet dangle in the water while Mawr waited above like a guard dog.

  “Neema? Why did those foxes turn into light?”

  The faerie shrugged. “Because did. Know must why humans always why?”

  Emma blinked. “Why must humans always know why?”

  “What I said that is!” Neema laughed.

  “I don’t know.” Emma pulled her dress up underwater and ran her hand up and down her belly, chasing away the icky slime. “Because we do… and it might be important.”

  “Important? Nasty bad animals all’s that doing.”

  “Does every animal in this place do that?”

  Neema gave her a pathetic large-eyed stare. “Not Neema knowing. Killing not animals like. Hurting us they have done never before.”

  “Oh.” Emma let her dress fall back in place and stood. The darkening effect of wetness drained out of the garment in seconds, leaving it dry. What spirit helped Nan with this dress? She glanced at the rocks and then toward the direction she thought the Elder Grove stood. Nymira seems to know things. Maybe she will know what it means. She scampered up the wall of the sunken creek, climbing back to the forest floor. “I need to see the queen.”

  Mawr bowed so she could climb on his back. “Then we shall see her.”

  Emma perched on his shoulders and held on. The great bear ambled forward at a brisk stride toward the faerie’s home. Neema landed seated on the back of Emma’s neck and picked at her hair.

  Giggling, Emma squealed. “What are you doing?”

  “Being happy not you hurt.” The faerie zipped into the air, circled once, and landed draped over top of Emma’s head, two tiny elbows poking her as she balanced her chin on her hands. “Important think you do the popping foxes?”

  “Animals aren’t supposed to burst into light. It has to mean something.” Emma let her eyes half close. The motion of his stride came close to rocking her to sleep. “I hope.”

  he journey back to the Elder Grove seemed to pass in mere seconds. Emma jolted awake at Mawr’s abrupt stop and lifted her face out of his fur. She blinked heavy eyes and wiped a bit of drool from her lip on her arm. He’d stopped close to the Elder Grove, abiding their request he not attempt to enter. It struck Emma as silly they’d even asked him not to since the huge bear could not have fit past the gate. He emitted a low moan of tiredness, and trudged over to the canopied moss, where he lay down.

  “Thank you, Mawr.” Emma yawned.

  “Mmm.” He rested his chin on the ground.

  She leaned back, swung her legs to the right, and slid down his shoulder. Faeries emerged from little doorways, branches, and dark spots between trees, drawn by curiosity at the massive bear. Emma blinked and stretched. A few quick breaths of fresh air woke her up the rest of the way. She approached the gate of woven vines and waited. In seconds, they untangled, opening for her. Faeries gathered around her in a glowing rainbow cloud, gliding along with her on her way into the grove.

  The crystalline fountain emitted a musical series of chimes, fainter and sharper than the constant bell tones emanating from the faeries themselves. She hurried around the path to where Nymira’s throne chamber occupied the hollow at the bottom of the immense tree. The Faerie queen glanced up, an expectant look on her face.

  She knew I was coming to see her.

  Emma curtseyed before kneeling and sitting back on her heels. “Queen Nymira, I think I have learned something strange.”

  “Speak, child. What is it you have seen?”

  “Those foxes. I tried to follow them, hoping to find what is making them so angry. I fell in a bog and they attacked me. It wasn’t what I wanted to do, but I had to kill one.”

  Faeries gasped; some bowed their heads.

  “Go on,” said Nymira.

  “It didn’t die like an animal should. It burst”―she held her hands wide, indicating a cloud―”into a big puff of pink light. It had no blood.”

  “Strike this creature with what did you?” asked Pimlin.

  “A spell my mother showed me. A vine of sharp thorns.” Emma gestured as if casting it again. “It cut the fox in two, but… pop!”

  “A false creature, made of magic.” Queen Nymira’s ruby eyes flared with annoyance.

  Emma blinked. “I couldn’t talk to it. False? How can an animal be false?”

  Nymira smiled the same way Nan smiled at Tam when he asked a question she wanted to laugh at. “As you summon roots, so do some who use magic summon creatures. They are made of energy, and return to energy when they are dispersed. The spell you use to communicate with animals did not work with them because they are not true animals. They have no spirit.” Her eyes narrowed. “This explains much.”

  A few of the faeries got to rapid chattering.

  “Burst the snakes it’s why,” whispered Neema in her ear.

  “What about Mawr?” asked Emma. “I asked Strixian to free his mind, and it worked. I tried to do the same to the fox, but nothing happened.”

  “Mages who practice this art―I believe humans refer to it as conjuration―also have been known to cast charms upon animals to control them.” Nymira gazed into the woods. “I know of a human in this realm who works such magic.”

  “Dangerous too it’s!” said Rin, the black-haired male guard. “Child she is.”

  “Has idea of good does Nymira.” Raa bounced up and down. “Hates faeries the conjurer-mage. Hurt not a little girl human would he.”

  “Talk human to the girl can,” said Pimlin. “Learn his angry animals sending why.”

  “I shall accompany her as well,” bellowed Mawr, from the gate.

  Neema, hovering by Emma’s shoulder, puffed up her chest. “Going me too.”

  Emma bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Queen Nymira, but you really should ask my Mama for help. I shouldn’t go without her giving me permission.”

  Queen Nymira sighed and bowed her head. “You are in the Faerie Realm now, Emma. There is magic everywhere around you in this place. Magic that affects humans easily when they are adults. As a child, you have not yet closed your mind to all that is magical and fantastic.”

  Emma bit her lip, a twinge of embarrassment at remembering how urgently she had insisted faeries couldn’t be real not too long ago.

  “If your mother were to come here, it is quite likely she would not be able to leave. Such is the fate of the other human I speak of. He has been here far too long, and cannot return to your world.” Nymira looked her in the eye. “I understand if you must return to your home. Our fate is not a burden you are required to bear.”

  Guilt hung heavy around her heart. The faeries would bring her home if she asked, but she would be leaving them to whatever that man wanted to do. Few people she knew of outside her family believed faeries real, and some of those who did regarded them as pests. Maybe this conjurer didn’t understand faeries. If she could convince him they were not mere creatures, but small people, perhaps he would leave them alone. She bit her lip, staring at her toes. As much as she wanted more than anything to run home to her family, she couldn’t let all the faeries die.

  Not if she had a chance to help.

  “I will talk to him.” She looked up. Relief spread over the faeries’ expressions. Some smiled, some clapped, and a handful cheered. “Are you sure he won’t try to hurt me?”

  The queen tapped her chin for a few seconds, lost in thought. “I believe it unlikely, especially if you are polite.”

  Neema let off a burst of rapid-fire words in faerie, gesturing at Emma.

  Emma glanced at her. “What?”

  “She says that she will not let him harm you. You freed her from the lantern, so she will do anything she can… even die, to protect you.”

  “No…” Emma grasped Neema in a gentle hug. “I don’t want you to die.”

  Neema stared at her. “Want Neema die not either to.”

  “Queen Nymira,” whispered Emma.

  “Yes, child?”

  She stooped
lower, still whispering, “May I ask you a question that might hurt your faeries’ feelings? I don’t intend it in a mean way, but I am curious.”

  “Of course.” Nymira smiled. “You are a child, and a child must learn when they are curious.”

  “Why do you speak properly, but the other faeries… umm… talk in strange words?”

  Nymira grinned. “Because I am actually speaking your language. My people are using magic to make you understand ours.”

  “Oh.” Emma sat up straight, smiling. “Thank you. I will go and speak to this mage, and ask him to stop sending false animals to hurt your people.”

  “You have my thanks, Emma.” Nymira offered a slow, deep nod.

  Emma stood and let Neema glide into the air. “Which way do I go?”

  “Neema knows the path,” said the queen.

  “Unwise is this,” said Rin before chattering at the queen in the faerie language.

  “I won’t do anything foolish.” Emma folded her arms. “If he is mean or won’t talk to me…”

  The queen raised a hand. “Do not do anything that would imperil your life. If the man will not speak with you, do not make him angry. Return here, and I shall not hold you at fault. Neema will ensure that you return to your home.”

  Emma nodded.

  Four Silverbells flew over, holding a sack made of knitted leaves radiating the sweet fragrance of faerie cakes.

  “For your journey,” chirped one.

  Emma accepted the provisions. “Thank you.”

  “When going?” asked Neema.

  “Now.” Emma slung the leaf-bag over her shoulder. “Before he sends more false animals.”

  top Mawr’s towering shoulders, Emma rode into the woods. Within an hour of leaving the Elder Grove, the roperoot trees again dominated the forest, though the bear had little trouble stepping over them. Some of the roots crisscrossing the ground looked taller than Emma. Neema perched upon Mawr’s nose like a lookout on the prow of a boat, pointing him onward.

  Patches of glowing emerald moss dotted some of the trees, smeared among ordinary wintergreen lichen. Mushrooms as tall as men stood here and there, in shades of violet, blue, and white. Their heavy caps drooped and occasionally released puffs of sparkling violet dust. Though the sounds of life surrounded her, few animals showed themselves except for birds. Most bore a passing resemblance in shape to sparrows, jays, and ravens, though they had much more elaborate plumage, long tails that trailed like ribbons, and feathers awash with bright colors.

  “How far away is it?” asked Emma.

  “Days two or three.” Neema scratched her head. “Will twice you sleep.”

  Emma’s stomach churned with worry. “I’m going to be on punishment until I’m someone’s Nan.”

  Neema giggled. “Being silly. Be you home in minutes few.”

  She’s trying to make me feel better.

  For hours they traveled, past thousands of trees and the occasional small pond or stream. One river proved deep enough to wet Emma’s feet as Mawr swam across, the water as cold as where she had gone swimming back home. She spent a few minutes trying to understand why the other stream had been so warm.

  Forest spirits wanted it to be warm? Magic? Bah. This is a faerie wood… anything could happen here.

  Emma whiled away the time searching about for unusual herbs and flowers, staring at them until she felt sure she could describe them to Nan when she returned home. Perhaps talking about unique plants would buy a little time before they got to telling her how disappointed they were in her for traipsing off into the woods on her own again. Kimber’s voice replayed in her head, talking about the ‘faerie king’s daughters’ and how worried the younger one was when the elder ran off.

  She nibbled on a cake, but dread at having to face her family’s disappointment once she finally got home kept her from eating more than three. Mawr stopped to savage a berry bush, since the amount of food the faeries had provided for him amounted to one meal.

  Daylight flickered in from narrow gaps in the thick tree cover, but gave no sense of the time. Whenever she looked up, she stared at a vast carpet of green, unable to figure out how far across the sky the sun had gone. Emma sang to herself in whispers to distract herself from missing home, but Run Rabbit made her think of Tam, and Tamrin Brae got her worrying she’d become the ‘faerie king’s wife’ and would never go home again.

  Hours ran into each other, though the wondrous sights: narrow waterfalls, huge green birds, a stark white stag with glowing azure eyes, a colony of bright pink frogs, and a silvery lake covered in gossamer hanging vines kept boredom at bay. It both frightened and relieved her not to see any more false animals, or malicious creatures that only wanted to kill.

  Soon after the light began to dim, announcing the approach of night, human voices carried out of the woods off to the left. Emma leaned forward trying to listen, but couldn’t pick out individual words―only the murmuring of a group of women.

  She peered at the faerie. “Do you hear it? Who are they?”

  “Who?” Neema leapt from Mawr’s snoot to his head. “What?”

  “I hear people talking.” She pointed.

  “Hmm. Know I not.”

  “I’d like to see. Maybe this conjurer is there instead of where you think he is? Or maybe those people know something that could help us.”

  Neema shrugged. “Not of knowing humans more one than in our forest. Strange. Strange is hearing them.”

  Mawr turned in that direction. The voices grew louder, and sounded much like ordinary villagers discussing ordinary things: a wife’s health, a new calf, a chicken being slow with egg laying. After a few minutes of travel, the shapes of basic wooden buildings became visible past the forest ahead, all awash in an eerie light. A gathering of humans stood in the street of a small village, dressed like the people who would come into Widowswood each year for the Feast of Zaravex. Simple cotton dresses on the women, plain brown tunics or cloaks on the men, all well-worn.

  Emma perked up, staring wide-eyed at a human settlement in the midst of the faerie world. Even the forest seemed to give it some space, with not a single enchanted tree or plant anywhere within the circle containing the village.

  Something seemed off about the place, as if the town had a separate little sun that shone only on the houses and people, but not the trees at its edge. The modest hamlet did not appear to have an inn, or anything large enough to be a store. Small homes and smaller huts clustered around a village circle with a well at its center.

  A group of children ran about in the far right portion, laughing.

  The sight of kids, especially happy ones, calmed Emma’s doubts at the unusual light.

  Mawr’s approach drew the notice of the villagers, who stared aghast.

  “He won’t hurt anyone,” said Emma, holding her hands up and apart. “He’s friendly.”

  A man pointed. “That poor girl has been taken by a bear.”

  “A giant bear,” said a woman.

  “By Yalem, someone do something!” A young, pregnant woman crossed her hands over her heart.

  Emma patted Mawr on the head and whispered, “Maybe you should wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  “I will be listening. Call out if you need my assistance.” Mawr settled down to rest.

  “It’s going to sleep,” yelled a man in a green cap.

  Emma slid to the ground and walked closer to the townspeople. “Please, listen to me. His name is Mawr and he is my friend. I’m a druid.”

  “Oh,” cried the same man.

  The pregnant woman seemed to relax. “Hello, child.”

  Seven or eight other adults said hello one after the next.

  “What brings you to Brynshire?” asked an older woman, pudgy and short, with dark-brown hair. She stooped forward over Emma. “And why are you all on your own riding an enormous bear?”

  “Have you had anything to eat?” A man a bit younger than Da strode up next to her. “You’re so thin and small.”

&
nbsp; “Umm, some faerie cake.” Emma licked the flavor of fruit from her lips.

  “Well, a girl cannot live on cake alone.” He snapped his fingers. “Come lass, I shall offer you a plate of chicken and bread.”

  “Oh, Fenton… you’re barely managing to feed yourself and that wife of yours. We can offer this little one some stew.” The heavyset woman smiled at her.

  “Nonsense,” replied an old man. “I’ve got the hut all to m’self, and more than enough food to spare for a little mouth.”

  Emma offered an apologetic smile, feeling a bit awkward. “You’re all so nice. Thank you. I’m looking for a conjurer. I think maybe some of his magic ran away and I need to tell him. Have you seen a mage here?”

  The villagers conferred amongst themselves, each denied having seen any conjurers or mages.

  “No, child,” said Fenton, scratching at his hair before offering his hand. “Come, girl. You need to eat and it’s almost time for a girl your age to be in bed.”

  Emma fidgeted. “Well, I suppose it is getting dark, and a bed would be nice.”

  “We’ll give her food.” The large woman took Emma’s right hand. “Come, child.”

  When the woman started pulling her, Emma set her heels. “Umm…”

  “Nonsense, Beatrice.” Fenton took Emma’s left hand and pulled her the opposite direction. “Millie has already cooked more than the two of us could possibly eat.”

  Emma grunted, feeling a bit like a wishbone. What is wrong with them? She twisted her arms and wriggled free, only to wind up with the old man’s hands on her shoulders from behind.

  “Poor wee lass. You look starved and tired. I’ve got a seasons’ worth of venison ready.”

  He started to tug her backward, but she ducked out of his grip and darted a few steps away.

  “You are all very friendly.” Emma turned in a circle, staring up at a closing ring of villagers, all smiling at her with kindness. “Thank you.”

  The pregnant young woman seized her left wrist. “I’ll feed her and give her a place to sleep.”

  “Pshaw, Margaret.” Another man whom she’d not seen before reached for her right arm.