The appearance of the Green Fairy and revelation of a way to the Upper Realm.

Hammering on the unfeeling door, Diran shouted, “Gomus, oh, Gomus please help me! Take me with the next offering, seal me up in barrels of lard if you must, deliver me to bliss! Ah, Thizen, noble sovereign of the sky, I heed your call to the land above!” He was nearly out of breath and his eyes were red as he had kept a vigil all through the night.

Gomus opened his door with a grunt and sized him up, “You screwed up the job and now you’ve come, raving like a madman. What daemon has entered your mind?” the landlord of the mills spat.

Diran grabbed him by the shoulders and shouted, “The offering! You send it to the Upper Realm at dusk and I must be with it! Oh, the ardent passion within me swells when I recall those pristine spires!” Almost frightened, Gomus pushed Diran away and then, with surprising strength for his shape, slammed the crazed thief against the wall, holding him by the collar, “Stop this insanity! I have neither the time nor the mind to be party to your antics. Off with you, go and bother some poorer soul!” He lifted the panicking Diran and, in a clean motion, tossed him through the threshold.

The slam of the door made Diran wince and he sat in a heap at the doorstep for some time. It was only until well after night had begun that a passerby, perhaps mistaking the deflated form for a corpse, reached towards his rucksack. Diran roused, frightening the pickpocket off with a bloodshot stare.

After a moment to take in his surroundings, Diran rose unsteadily and began down the road when his attention was caught by the tolling of a bell. Once, twice, thrice, and then a long pause. He stood, listening with bated breath, and so did the rest of the realm into whom a collective sigh had welled. Suddenly, the still was broken,

‘CLACK!’

‘CLACK!’

‘CLACK!’

…

The air was dead again. One, two, three beats passed and then all the tension was released. Surely, the offering was accepted, thought Diran, and then he trudged along the road with leaden boots, for he knew that there was none in the world he envied more than the produce and goods that were now in the mighty hands of those above.

He carried on aimlessly well into the evening until he came across the Margaes. He took the knackered door by the handle and lifted it slightly onto its hinges, as had been necessary to enter the place for some time. Making his entrance, he took his seat at a long table with rows of chairs that often sat empty on such nights. Although the room was dim, it was evenly lit so that no corner was darker than the rest.

He glanced up at the rat who stood before him and limply declared, “…drink” as he emptied a handful of coins onto the table. She had long hair that was dark such that, in their childhood, she and Diran were often called siblings; she wore an off-white tunic over her dress which was brown and had sleeves that ended before her wrists.

The woman procured a simple but mostly clean glass and poured into it an emerald liquid from a lovely bottle that had surely seen much recycle. She loushed it with lukewarm water and handed him the cloudy spirit, which he held fondly, admiring the fragrant anise before bringing the glass to his lips gratefully.

He felt the liquor seep deeper into his body with each sip and, without prompt, broke into monologue,

“Ah, dear Khoba, whose love I shall never know, I have now found myself longing for a different happiness so far out of reach. You know not, but there exists in the sky a resplendent land of gold that might stretch many leagues through the clouds. I daresay it has cast a spell upon me, for anywhere I look I cannot but see that auspicious spire in my mind’s eye. Alas, that pleasant land may never be mine. For the one path I might take is sealed and I will surely succumb before I reach those heights!”

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He had paused to take another sip when he became aware of another creature at his side. He turned towards the newcomer and saw a spirit who was adorned with a coat of the deepest green he had ever witnessed. Enraptured, he called out, “Oh, Fairy of Green, how you brighten the room like a hundred candles! Impart to me your secrets!”

Diran gestured so wide that the glass in his hand was swung wildly and a portion of absinthe splashed onto Khoba. Ignorant, Diran continued, “Oh, with Fay wings so delicate, shall you carry my soul to that high land?”

Then, the Green Fairy reached out towards him and there was a great ‘SMACK’ as Lami struck the drunkard with an open palm. “Be silent! What is this madness you have brought upon yourself, that you cry out like a child?” Diran flinched and was then aware that there was no Green Fairy, but the well-dressed Lami by whose colorful attire he had been deceived.

“Oh Lami,” he cried, “how shall I go on living in knowledge of paradise beyond my reach? Tell me of that land that sits above our realm and if I might know it with my hands and feet!” He threw himself at the crow’s shiny boots and the rest of the absinthe stained Khoba’s tunic.

Lami addressed the pitiful Diran with the quiet forcefulness of a scolding parent, “I know that you have gazed upon the Upper Realm and think it wonderous so that the rest of the world seems barren. I bear responsibility for checking your passions and so you shall have my aid. Come, I must make you sober before we can talk proper.”

In the Linke Fleur, Diran sipped a glass of water while Lami cleared out an open space on the floor, placing a number of toys and trinkets into boxes. After creating a space of bare wood large enough for one to lie down in, they dragged a chest out from under a pile of rugs and fiddled with a ring of keys. Diran, who had regained some faculties, crawled over and inspected the box, “Lami, this is…?”

In reply, Lami threw open the lid, causing a great puff of dust to engulf the two. When it settled, they beckoned Diran and he stooped over the chest. Inside, he first noticed a framed portrait. Gingerly, he lifted the frame and set it against the chest for viewing. As his eyes appreciated the painting, he found himself transfixed by the same form that had elated him with her power and grace.

She wore an ornate crown of ivory and gold and it had a long piece that extended as the bill of a hat does, over which was hung a sheer veil that granted her sharp features a certain mystique. She donned a pearly white gown into which must have been sewn gems for, even in painting, her entire being shimmered like a thousand diamonds; the regalia flowed over her shoes, but he imaged they must have been fine velvet that graced the ground with soft, noble steps. All over her body, there was a constellation of jewelry and he shuddered inwardly to comprehend the opulence on display.

“Thizen,” said Lami, “tyrant princess of the Upper Realm; it is by her word that the offerings increase. You met her once, I gather.”

“Yes, once,” whispered Diran, eyes still attached to the painting.

Lami took hold of it and placed it aside, breaking Diran’s trance, and looked him in the eye, “Why do you long for the Upper Realm so?”

Diran took a moment to recover his senses and then turned to Lami, “Isn’t it natural to obsess over what we can never have?” There was honesty in his words but Lami, whose ear was keen, scolded, “To omit some truth is also to lie, Diran.” Diran relented to Lami’s interrogation and asked, “Lami, isn’t there some place beyond Alinov?” His companion said nothing. “There must be something. Something more, something greater, something beyond our daily life. Over the surging waves, beyond the Carpet, some other way. That’s what I thought for a long time.” The man stared past Lami, to some far-off place.

“Diran…,” started Lami, but they said nothing more.

“I thought I had given up my aspirations but, Lami, I have seen the place where, surely, my dreams could come true. Please, you must know, isn’t there some way?” Diran pleaded, his eyes reflecting his desperate determination into Lami, who sat in contemplation. Then, as Diran began to think his hope extinguished, Lami reached into the chest and procured a small box of polished wood.

With the careful hands of a craftsman, they opened the lid which creaked from disuse. Leaning over, Diran saw in it a coiled, white thread that sat on a bed of fine velvet. Although he was ignorant of its function, Diran knew at once that this was no ordinary thread. He stayed himself as Lami continued, measured, to ensure that not a single word was lost on Diran,

“There is but one way to reach the heights of the Upper Realm and no guarantee of your return. You must fly.”