by A. L. Knorr
A bookcase with glass doors materialized in the gloom and I pedaled toward it. Grasping the cupboard handles, I opened both doors wide. The faint scent of old leather drifted out. I trailed a fingertip across the spines of the unusually tall leather-bound books. None of them were embossed or printed with a title.
The same feeling that told me something needed my attention also told me which book to choose. I hooked my finger into the top of a frayed looking spine and pulled. It slid out and fell open in my hands. The spine cracked. On the oversized page was a painting rendered in colored ink, as beautiful and vivid as a stained-glass window. An elaborate border in multi-colored paisley and gold leaf framed the portrait. The subject’s tiny face was all spritely angles. Slashes of dark hair fell across her ears and shoulders. Wispy, fine wings rose elegantly from her back. The delicate fingers of her right hand reached out, seeming to rise from the page. A name sounded off in my mind, like the tinkling of a very far away bell. I heard a wind, and words on the wind.
Say her name.
"Eda," I whispered. The smell of moss and damp earth filled my senses. The warm night breeze blew my hair away from my face and off my shoulders. Grass touched the tips of my toes as they hung above the earth and I remember not thinking it was odd at all that this bookcase was outside. I turned the page.
Another exquisite painting. This portrait was of a masculine faerie, with squared-off wings and strong looking legs. I knew his name, too. It appeared in my mind like a thought that had been delivered. It's weird what our minds do in the nighttime. The wind that spoke repeated itself.
Say his name.
"'Po," I said, louder this time. The warm breeze caressed my cheek bones, caught at my eyelashes. My toes touched the earth as I dropped another fraction. I turned the page again.
Another sketch. Another name. Another whisper. Another breath. Each time, more of my soles made contact with the soil and grass beneath my feet.
"Tera. Hana. J'al. Mehda."
I turned the pages faster, feeling compelled to say every name out loud. With every name, the warm wind grew stronger, whipping my hair around. The fabric of my pajamas lay completely still despite the gale. There was a long drawn out 'haaaaaaaaaaaaa', sound - like an exhale, warm and humid. I went on, naming names.
"Oka. Iri. Bolé. Wenn."
I inhaled the warm earthy wind, and it filled my lungs, energized me. My weight settled fully onto the soles of my feet.
It was enough. I was finished. My job was done, for now.
I replaced the book and closed the glass doors with a click as the swirling fog closed in around me.
Chapter 11
It was the booming sound of distant thunder that woke me. I lifted my head to find the clock on my nightstand but it was so dark I couldn't read the face of it as it was an old-fashioned clock, not a digital one. A flash of lightening conveniently lit my room and revealed that it was 5:45. The darkness enveloped me again.
I knew that I’d dreamt something strange, something about wind, and the bottoms of my feet, and the smell of earth after a rain, but I couldn’t bring to memory any distinct details. I closed my eyes and wracked my brain but it was hazy at best and just left me with a feeling of confused wonder.
I threw back the covers as rain began to fall in earnest. It pounded the roof and eaves. I've always loved storms. I love when heavy raindrops fall against the windows and run down in sheets against the glass, making the outside world look like it's underwater. I love the rumble of thunder and the white flashes that light up the sky and clouds with painful clarity.
I looked down into the yard but I couldn't make out much through the blur of water except for the dark shape of the gazebo. I wrapped my robe around me and went downstairs to the kitchen to get a better view. The house was quiet. I assumed Jasher and Faith were still sleeping.
The kitchen was lit up by a flash of lightning just as I entered and I was treated to a stark view of the backyard - the dripping wisteria on the terrace, the patio furniture.
I thought the greenhouse would be a good place to enjoy the surround sound experience of rain pelting glass, and lightning illuminating the plants.
The greenhouse sliding door was already open and there was some small source of light - I could see the blurry glow through the panes. I poked my head in. The dome was closed against the driving rain and Jasher sat cross-legged on a mat directly underneath it on the floor, stooped over something in his lap. A long-necked lamp sat on the floor nearby and fed light on whatever he was doing. I turned to leave him to his private time but then stopped. Now was as good a time as any to make another attempt at friendship, even a tentative one.
"Good morning. I guess you had a similar idea. Do you like storms, too?" I padded over the rubber mats on the earthen floor in my slippers. My nerves twanged, the way they always did around Jasher. At the sound of my voice, Jasher snapped a book shut and looked up at me. Was he embarrassed?
"I do like storms." His eyes narrowed. "Please tell me you didn't bring your cell phone in here?" He eyeballed the pocket of my bathrobe.
"After the tongue lashing you gave me?" I replied coolly. "I know better than that, although I have to admit I still don't get it."
He had the decency to look sheepish but the look was gone as quickly as it had come. He propped the book against his chest, like he wanted to hide the title. There was an awkward silence. I hate awkward silences, but I wanted to see if he'd fill it, so I waited. He waited, too. Clearly, he had no intention of sharing with me whatever it was he was reading. I fought the urge to roll my eyes in annoyance. This kind of behavior suited twelve-year-olds.
I was about to turn and leave when he said, "Did you sleep well?"
"Like the dead," I murmured. The dream had vanished completely by then. "You?"
He shrugged. The silence grew heavy and I opened my mouth to dismiss myself for a third time when he said, "Did Faith show you the butterfly cocoons yet?"
I cocked my head. "No. You have butterflies in here somewhere?"
"We do," he said with more enthusiasm than really seemed necessary. I felt thankful that he was making an effort, disingenuous though it was.
"They're over here." Jasher got to his feet and tucked the book underneath his arm. He crouched in front of a thick wall of vines and parted them, revealing several cocoons hanging from the undersides of the leaves. No wonder I hadn't spotted them before; they were completely camouflaged.
"Here." He pointed to several cocoons lined along the same stem. There were nearly a dozen of them. "These ones are Monarchs, and these little guys are called Skippers." He pointed to a couple of smaller, gray ones. His fingertip moved to point out the various species, naming them all. "A Red Admiral, a Peacock, a Tortoise-Shell, a Marbled White, a Meadow Brown and two Gatekeepers. Most of those are from the Nymphalidae family. These ones are Holly Blues, they'll be an amazing periwinkle color. They're from the Lycaenidae family. They all have Latin names of course, but I won't bore you with those."
"It's anything but boring." I wanted to point out that I'd never heard him string so many words together all at once, but he was on a roll now. I didn't want to discourage him by making a joke about it. "How did you get them here, all in the same place?"
"It's not difficult," he said. "I find them in the garden when they're close to making a cocoon and I bring them in here and place them where I know they’ll like it." He looked at them with affection. "Sometimes they wander a bit, but most times they build their cocoons right here."
I pointed to a bright purple cocoon shaped exactly like a droplet of water and just as small. It was pearly and exquisite. Odd that he hadn't pointed it out to me yet. "What kind is this one? It's gorgeous."
When he didn't answer, I looked at his face. I'll never forget that look. He was staring at me, spectral eyes in the gloom. Even in the dim light, his shock was the most genuine expression I'd seen on his face since we'd met.
"You can see that one?" He pointed. "This purple one, right
here?"
"Yes, of course. Why shouldn't I see it?"
His normally ruddy face took on a waxy cast.
"Jasher, are you okay?" I put a hand on his shoulder. It was the first time I'd touched him intentionally since our spiky handshake. The corded muscle under my palm jumped.
"Have you ever seen a cocoon like this one before?" he asked.
"No, I'm sure I haven't. Why? Is it rare?"
"Never? Never, ever?" He emphasized by slicing his hand through the air - sharp, knife-like. It was really important to him to know that this was the first time.
"Never." I shook my head. I was certain I hadn't. It still didn't explain why he had the complexion of a vampire. "What's the big deal?"
He looked me square in the eyes and said without a hint of a joke, "It's a faerie cocoon."
Chapter 12
The rain pelting against the glass became a hail of bullets in the silence. Jasher's dark eyes bored into mine and I couldn't look away. Was he messing with me? I didn't know him well enough to tell. He looked as serious as death. I pressed my lips between my teeth and narrowed my eyes. Several heartbeats pounded past and neither of us spoke.
I released my lips with a little popping sound. "Excuse me?" An uncertain anger bubbled under the surface, wondering if it was justified in showing its head or not. I suspected that he was trying to make me feel foolish. I had no reason to trust him.
"What you're seeing, and trust me, I'm more gobsmacked about it than you are," Jasher said, "is a brand new faerie. This is how they start."
I had the strangest feeling that I should be insulted. It was that moment right then, that I liked him least of all, even less than when he'd snapped at me. The feeling that I couldn't trust him muddied everything, like too much salt can ruin a dish.
"Right." I stood and turned away. Ghosts I could wrap my head around. Faeries? Nope.
His hand caught mine and held it. The warmth of it startled me, but not as much as the tone of his voice when he said, "I'm not lying to you, Georjie. Please don't go."
I paused, and searched his face for dishonesty. I found none, but I still didn't trust him.
"I've never met anyone else who can see them," he went on, his voice soft. "Even Faith, she knows I can see them and believes me, but she can't see them herself. You'll believe me when you see it hatch."
"If you're messing with me..." My voice loaded with threat is still a bit lame, but I did my best.
"I'm not. I wouldn't do that." His accent had grown thicker, which was even more convincing than his words at showing me he was sincere. That, and the energy between us had completely changed. It felt like Jasher had been tolerating me before, but now it felt like he needed an ally, and that ally was me. The switch was so abrupt it gave me vertigo.
I crouched hesitantly and examined the cocoon again. I pushed aside the leaves until what little light there was illuminated it. It certainly didn't look like anything I'd ever seen before, and it didn't look plastic. It was a million shades of swirling pearlescent purple.
Jasher knelt beside me. "You're sure you've never seen one like this before?"
"Jasher, you've asked me that four thousand times. No, I promise I haven't."
"So, why now?" he murmured, more to himself.
"Was there a... a caterpillar?" I felt stupid just asking. “A faerie worm?” I almost giggled at the idea.
"No, that's what's so amazing!" Jasher's voice came out loaded with passion and it caught me up. His eyes were lit and he stared at the cocoon with real affection. "It's the result of dappled sunlight and pure rainwater. I used to find them more often but they're forming less and less, now. They seem to only happen under the right conditions. Like, after a rainstorm when the raindrops are falling more slowly and the sun comes out. I don't know exactly what happens, scientifically speaking, but see how the cocoon looks like a water droplet just about to fall?"
"Mmmmhmmmmm." I noticed a subtle shift in myself. I wanted to believe.
"Right at that moment, before it lets go of the leaf, the droplet is penetrated by a beam of sunlight. It doesn't happen in steady, streaming light, only when there are either moving clouds, or tree branches waving around. I reckon it cuts the sunbeams up." He was animated now, like a mad scientist in theorizing mode. "I don't know if the temperature of the light, or the length of the beam have to be right or what, but when the light hits it, the water glazes over and solidifies. I've been lucky enough to watch it happen a few times now. Over time, it starts to look like this one here. It turns color as it matures."
"And then it...hatches."
"Exactly, just like a butterfly."
"And what comes out is a...faerie." The cogs in my brain were jamming up over it. Did I believe? I stared at the delicate cocoon and chewed my lip. There was nothing about it that looked artificial. It was when I noticed its translucency, that I could see shadows of the leaves behind it, that I did believe. Is there a moment when faith kicks in? I think yes, after this experience. There is a line to cross when the unbeliever becomes the believer. Some of us just need stronger evidence than others, but we all have that line inside us. As I passed my hand behind the cocoon and saw my shadow through it, my need was met. I believed.
"Aye. Amazing isn't it?"
"What does it look like?" I felt like someone had removed colored glasses from my face that I didn't know I had been wearing, and I'd just learned that grass was blue, not green.
Jasher caught my eye and smiled. I won't hide my feelings, the expression warmed me to my bones. "You'll be able to see it for yourself pretty soon if we get the timing right. At least, I reckon if you can see the cocoon, you'll be able to see the spirit that comes out too."
"Spirit?"
"Aye, they look more ghostly than flesh and blood. Transparent-like, you know?"
I looked at him. They looked more like ghosts. He would know. "What do they do?"
He shrugged. "Mostly they vanish into the plants and earth. Make things grow. Clean things up, become part of the energy that powers the forces of nature. They don't stick around. Once they drop, I almost never see them again, just a flash here and there."
"So the natural stuff around us is chock full of fae?"
"Sounds funny, I know. But everything has energy, right? Even the ancient Celts believed in animism."
I knew that word from my religion class last year. "Everything has a living spirit. Trees, the land, rocks..."
"Right. I've seen them disappear not only into plants, but into the ground and into stone. We think of stone as something inanimate, but when you see a spirit go into one, well, it’s hard not to think of it as alive."
I became conscious of how close our faces were. When he spoke, a few wisps of my hair moved in his breath. That simple connection served to ground me, and my soul reached for it. We grasp at the tangible when the earth under our spiritual feet shifts unexpectedly.
"Can you..." he started, but stopped. "Do you..." he stopped again.
I waited. He looked more awkward that I'd ever seen him. This was a totally new Jasher to me and it was a little jarring. Suddenly, I knew what he was trying to ask. "See ghosts?" I supplied. He nodded but I shook my head. "No. I never have."
His face fell. "How did you know what I was trying to ask then?" Understanding dawned a second later. "Faith told you."
"Are you mad?"
He canted his head. "I might have been." He looked back at the cocoon and I followed his gaze. The purple droplet shimmered as the sky above the greenhouse brightened, and the driving rain eased a little. "But, no."
Not anymore. We'd found ourselves with a kinship, something he'd neither expected nor looked for. I've never met anyone else who can see them, he'd said.
"So, you're not weirded out?" he asked. Only then did I realize that he was just as concerned about what I thought, as I was about what he thought of me knowing. "It doesn't scare you?"
"Scare me?" My brows shot up. "I'm not the one who can talk to the dead, you are. Wh
y would I be scared?"
"I don't know." He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "My da wasn't so keen on it."
Something snapped into clarity, like the moment the view in your binoculars goes from fuzzy to sharp. His own father had rejected him, calling him a child of the devil. He'd been beaten and abused and abandoned, all because of things beyond his control. It made sense that Jasher expected rejection from me. With the exception of Faith, rejection was all he'd known.
"Your father didn't do right by you, Jasher." I sort of blurted this, not my most tactful moment, I'll agree. After all, it really was not my business. He gave me a look I couldn't define. I cleared my throat. "So, when will it hatch?"
We crouched so close I could see the detail of the five o’clock shadow hugging his chin and mouth. I wondered what it would feel like scraping against my face. I'd never kissed anyone with so much serious stubble before. I know, but these are the thoughts of a teenager. I was really having issues thinking of Jasher as my cousin. I wondered how he thought of me. I pulled my eyes away, but every nerve remained aware of him.
"It's hard to predict exactly, but they seem to vary between eighteen and twenty-two days. This one should drop in the next ten to twelve days."
I stared at the cocoon, mystified. "I'm going to camp out right here."
He laughed and stood. "We've got a couple days to go yet. Don't worry," he winked. "I won't let you miss it."
The friendly gesture looked bizarre on him. Understandable, since he'd been nothing but rude since I'd arrived.
"Does this have something to do with why you yelled at me like a jerk when I approached the greenhouse with my cell phone the other day?"
He grinned sheepishly and ran a hand through his hair. "Cell phones kill faerie cocoons. Get within a few meters and poof." He mimicked a little explosion with his fingers. "They turn to vapor."