Wind keening
Moaning my melody
Darkness echoes
Boneyard
Blues
WAVING HER RIGHT HAND in a nonchalant whirlwind motion, Inixipi caused a cloud of pixels to whisk the Faerie up into the air with a mild yelp of startlement. “Come along now, dear. Hustle, hustle, dust and bustle. We’ve a great deal of work ahead of us. I promise you that Yaarah will be fine. Given several hours of nonstop abject grovelling, I might consider changing my mind, but only on your firm recommendation. Those Hypers do like to play with their victims otherwise. Are you quite certain you don’t want a nice fur rug for your cocoon? Gold being an exceptionally handsome colour and all that.”
“Eep? Um … not so much?”
More begging needed? How under Middlesun had Yaarah contrived to tick off these Pixies so severely?
“There, there, my dear, don’t be such a timorous jungle bud. A lively imagination is a sign of a healthy mind, I’ve always said – even in my dotage, as that dusty rascal Chenixipi would put it. Now, shall we talk about why every Dragon and mercenary and slaver seems to suddenly think Scintillant Fae are so incredibly valuable?”
“Well, Your … um, Eminence, Yaarah did tell me that Middlesun had gone all wobbly.”
With a gasp that caused all of her pixels to flee in different directions, only to whizz back to catch her before she landed upon the floor, the Eminence threw her an exceedingly keen glance. Suddenly, Allory realised, the joking and drama had vanished. Was it all for show?
As the elderly healer whisked her charge along into a new tunnel liberally covered in cream-coloured, delicate crystal flowers, the Pixie said kindly, “Allory Fae, perhaps that is merely the symptom, the outer sign of some greater malaise. The question every healer must ask is, what is the cause? And what do you have to do with that?”
“Me? I’ve done nothing –”
“Sweet as you are, dear, that’s no claim any creature under Middlesun can honestly make,” the Healer Pixie chuckled hoarsely. “Now, I am certain you personally have done nothing evil, of course. However, if the young Felidragon is right and his kind are concerned about the natural balance of Spheris, why the mass abductions of Scintillant Fae? I regret to inform you that your colony is not the first, but more likely, the very last.”
Allory twisted her left antenna in despair.
Was this dust making her skin prickle? Could she be allergic?
“Given the involvement of Marakusian Slavers and their dreadful actions against your family – well, let me put it this way. If you believe they’d be interested in healing some imbalance in the world, then you probably also believe the jungles are made of green Ogre cheese.”
“Eep?” Allory peeped again. Great. She rubbed her throat. Proper speech, please!
“It’s vile, dear. Utterly vile.”
With a dramatic wriggle of her podgy fingers, the Pixie swept her around a corner and down the third tunnel branch to the right, this one fringed by rope-like sapphire flowers. Allory giggled. These pixels tickled.
Inixipi frowned. “Are my pixels tickling your teeny backside?”
Another blush!
“Behave with our visitor, you rascals!” She punctuated this command with a sharp click of her fingers, which made the pixels quiver palpably. “Children, you know. Quite impossible to control them sometimes.”
“These are Pixie children?”
A wink comprised her answer. “Complex lifecycle. Aye, in a sense. They are the basal form of magic from which all Pixie life arises. This process is somewhat akin to how the quintessential essence of the Scintillant Fae is said to arise from the very ariavana of the world.”
Allory’s breath snagged helplessly in her throat.
“Aye, little one. That makes you unique; that uniqueness also makes your kind absolutely priceless and a target for far more than mere slavery. I am afraid, I fear deep in my elementary dust, that you Scintillants have been naïve – how evil creatures might plot against you, or perhaps seek some power or influence derived from that beautiful connection, to put it plainly. Maybe that is why the Ripper Baboons hunted you, while our Hyperdragons shadowed the Felidragon who we believed had your very worst interests at heart. There is a malign influence at work among his kind. Few Dragons are to be trusted. You claim that Yaarah had no knowledge of the designs of those who sent him to hunt you down – I believe that too, if an ancient Pixie is any judge of a creature’s reactions, which is indeed why I pushed him so forcibly. The timing of his twenty-one seasons of searching also makes sense. My dust-sense of the Felidragon points to his integrity. Though it thoroughly aggravates my every particle, I believe he is true.”
Good, because she did not want to think about his promising future as a rug. Ever.
Apart from that first time … she blushed delicately.
“What do you think, dear?”
“I … I suppose he did act very interested in the ariavanae.”
“Don’t they all?” she said ominously. “Again, the question is, what do they stand to gain and what are they prepared to do to get it?”
“They killed three of my siblings. Twenty-eight of my colony perished, Inixipi, and for what? I –” she muffled a sob against her fist “– I never knew … such cruelty … existed. Why would they do that to us? Why? We’re just innocent Faerie creatures. What did we ever do to them?”
The Pixie inhaled raggedly. “So that’s the reason for the grief I sensed about you. I am so sorry, dear, I truly am. This is not about you; it is the result of malevolent ambition. Since time immemorial, such ambition corrupts, ruins, desecrates and destroys all it touches, driving creatures to deeds beyond anathema. That is why you chose to travel with Yaarah, is it not? Considering how the Faerie have chosen to hide themselves over the ages, this is brave of you. Very telling.”
Why did everyone keep mistaking her for a brave creature? Ridiculous!
The elderly Pixie fixed a meaningful glance upon her. “True?”
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“I … but I’m only little, Inixipi!” she burst out. “I’m tiny and weak and alone. I know nothing about ariavanae, never mind the real world! What can I do? Me? I don’t exactly fling the abundant excess of my Scintillant sparkle about the great halls of Spheris, if you must know. The best I can manage is the tiniest glimmer … it’s hopeless. Hopeless!”
Why did every creature seem to think so much of her? To expect so much? It was too much to bear.
Tears spilled over, compounding her humiliation.
Reaching out, the Healer Sage drew her into a gentle hug against her bosom. After a giving her a long cuddle that reminded Allory so forcibly of her lost Momfae that she wept inconsolably, sobbing so hard it hurt her back all over again, the Pixie whispered, “The first thing you can do, dear, is to realise that you are not alone. You have lost much, but you have us and the Hyperdragons – and Yaarah, bless my dust. We are not many either, but we can help, and there will be others. I will do my utmost to heal your wings. I have great skill in this field. I will train you in the deep arts of healing, for I sense that in you lives and breathes the soul of a true healer. I cannot speak to the heart of our world, but I believe that you can or, as my dust speaks truth into being, you will learn to. It is your destiny.”
They spoke a common tongue, but Allory had absolutely no idea what under Middlesun the Pixie might mean.
She peeped, “Destiny?”
“Big word, tiny wings?” the Healer chuckled knowingly.
“Too right.”
Scary enough to make her heart hurtle toward its hyper-agitated zenith.
“If you believe in coincidence, which some call destiny, dear, then how about this: your given name and Yaarah’s are related, or didn’t you notice? Both Allory and al-Allegorix are forms of the word ‘allegory’. Yours is shortened, perhaps meaning, ‘child of allegory,’ while his means ‘harbinger of allegory.’ Or, one could interpret his name as ‘harbinger of the Allory.’ Funny, right?” She chuckled softly as the Fae girl huffed a sigh in her arms. “Of course, you’re right. It could mean nothing at all. Shall I tell you something else about destiny?”
She shrugged in helpless frustration. Could be something, could be nothing. That cleared everything up! After a moment, she gentled her response. “Please, Inixipi. I need all the help I can get.”
“Here’s the treatment chamber, dear. Lie down on this table, on your stomach. I’ll take a look at this injury – and your knee, aye. That too. Can’t have a beauty like you looking like you’ve been chewed up and spat out by a Felidragon.”
Suggids! How had she guessed … or not?
Sighing heavily, Allory glanced about the healer’s chamber and discovered a panacea for her trepidation. A soft, yellowish blue light emanated from the crystal vines that climbed up the walls and spread across the ceiling. Each lily-like flower was a source of warm radiance, a balm to her agitated sap. Inixipi had her remove her serami and then, with the help of fingers of pixels, began to unwind the saggy bandages with care for the way they had crusted into the bone-deep cut. Allory tried not to think about how many days it had been. Surely, too long for proper healing to take place?
Soon, the bandages lay in a grimy, heavily stained pile in her line of sight. How could her tiny body even produce that volume of blood and pus? Copious amounts of warm gunk oozing down her back. A cool instrument tugged gently at the cut site, with an apology for any hurt she might cause. Inixipi leaned very close, peering at her back through a magnifying lens that, in the corner of Allory’s vision, made her eye look bigger than a Scintillant’s entire body.
The Healer Sage muttered something about muddled musty mushrooms, if she was not mistaken. She sounded vexed.
“Inixipi?” she inquired timidly.
“This is a serious wound, but not impossible to treat,” the Healer Sage noted at last. “I’m afraid that the cleansing of the imbedded infection and reactivation of your peculiar nerve structures will require anaesthesia, however, as the treatment will likely trigger unbearable pain. Lie down on this pad, dear. It’s big enough for fifty of you, by my dust. We’ll take good care of you. Chenixipi? Where’s that lazy wretch? Chenixipi!”
“You cooed, great-grandpixie?”
Allory had to smother a treacherous giggle, making Inixipi cluck in annoyance.
“I am not a dove, you chattering chaffinch! Fetch my senpari scroll with the recipes for Miniature Fae creatures this instant. Summon my Potions Master! Where’s my Pixie-Magial Harpist? This atmosphere of decay needs cleansing. Nurse-Mage Gargoron?” She clapped her hands sharply once more. Allory rather suspected she enjoyed stirring up a kerfuffle. “Bring out the penetrative antibacterial dust, the disinfectant saps and plenty of sterile dressings! We’ve a patient to treat, my friends! A most delightful little scrap she is – lie down, Allory Fae. Relax! Trust us to do our work while you do yours.”
“What must I do, Eminent –”
“Pish-piddle-pops, my dear, you must prepare your mind and body for healing, of course. Chenixipi! Hop to it, child. Never let the dust settle around your feet.”
“Or your rotund butt,” the younger Pixie muttered, giving hers a saucy waggle for extra effect.
Gasp! How these Pixies talked to one another!
Allory rested her cheek upon the warm pad, a large white flower petal of an unfamiliar kind, a surprisingly firm yet silken surface that must be able to hold the weight of an entire Pixie, and tried to focus her mind on bright, healing thoughts. She wanted to hold strong to faith when all her soul’s silver sap was a nectar-stew of dread, sorrow and inanition. She did not believe it could be done, did she? None of it – from her wing to the world and everything in between.
The way ahead was dark. Unfathomable. Shadowed foliage inhabited by unknown, unnameable predators of fear. Yet the truth endured: she should have died at the Rippers’ paws, if not for Yaarah’s intervention. If one believed that destiny was no product of mere chance, then when did one begin to believe that it was no mere happenstance she had tumbled into a Felidragon’s lair, that her perfect throw had turned the battle to his advantage, that their names aligned, that he had been seeking the Scintillant Fae, that her colony had been abducted and brutalised, propelling her directly into his paw … could this all be chance after chance after chance?
Come on, Allory. What will it take to make belief rise up?
One of life’s unanswerable questions.
Her back felt cool and indecently exposed. Four times, the Healer Sage returned to dab delicately at something trickling from the cut. When the soft cotton pads landed in a tray set on a crystal stand to her left hand, Allory winced to observe that the unusually dark-silver colour of her blood came laced with a great deal of mustard, characteristic of Fae infection. Not good. Another chubby, cheerful Pixie dressed in pure white robes turned up with several trays of instruments, some rather sharper and gorier-looking than she would have preferred, and introduced himself as Gargoron.
An unidentifiable liquid burbled on a brazier nearby. Strange, charred smells rose into the air, mingled with citrus tangs and a tingle of magical Pixie dust. Inixipi helped her to quaff a small draught of potion. Allory nearly gagged it back out again. Her eyes watered. Definitely medicine, not in a good way.
The aftertaste reminded her of nothing more than dry fungus.
Perching herself on a seat of near-nothingness, since it was the Pixie way to sit upon one’s future children, she supposed, the Healer Sage reached out to stroke her arm lightly, and then to tuck a curl of hair behind her patient’s pointy left ear.
Inixipi said, “You’re quite the little beauty, do you know? Small even as Faerie go, I’d wager, but your sapphire colouration is ever so remarkable. I’ll bet all the boyfae fall over at the curl of your gorgeous antennae, don’t they?”
“Not so much, Your Eminence,” she demurred.
“Then, not to mince words, they are a bunch of dust-blinded morons,” the elderly Pixie rapped, tarter than any jungle lime.
Allory cough-giggled, “What did you say?”
“Witless pond scum,” she clarified. “Rock-headed Ogres. Brains of the average amoeba. All the gumption of a clump of luminous purple suggids and unarguably, the most dim-witted, benighted creatures ever to scamper around Spheris. How old are you, dear?”
“Eep? Er … nineteen?”
Her stomach gurgled ominously, beginning to feel decidedly odd. Allory hoped the strong, undiluted potion did not make her sick.
“Ah, just a budling. In my four hundred and seventeen years beneath Middlesun, I have learned a few things that I would like to share with you.” Her soothing voice rolled over Allory as the Fae girl’s increasingly heavy eyes shuttered of their own accord. “Destiny is not half as fixed as people imagine or fear. It is not a destination or a set of manacles or an inevitable end, but rather, something we have to discover for ourselves. As we struggle and strive, live and love and learn, it seems to this old Pixie that destiny yields to our will, that it changes and adapts and responds to the deepest desires of our hearts in a way that resembles sentience itself. That’s how I see ariavanae. It is not static. It’s more of a relationship.”
Allory murmured something unintelligible.
“That’s right, dear. Quite simply, it has nothing to do with how big or small we are, nor how important or not we think we are. Destiny’s song is a matter of heart, and the heart knows no limitation of size or capability or strength, but only the limitations that we impose upon ourselves.”
Drifting up into glorious white clouds, Allory sighed, “Truly?”
“It is, dear. You will make it true. Now, just let yourself drift into a place where everything will be –”
“… singing,” she exhaled. “All I hear … is …”