The Werewolves Who Weren't

by T C Shelley

  Queen Titania pulled Sam to his feet and all the other fairies stood. Each sofa, seat and stool erupted into a bush or tree and sprouted leaves. The dishes and cups twisted into flowers and the table melted into the carpet, which turned emerald green as the pile thickened into blades of grass. The sound of Woermann giggling and scratching at the walls was replaced by birdsong and a soft breeze. The fireplace, the walls and the windows faded to the bluest sky Sam had ever seen. Each fairy was exactly where he or she had stood or hovered beforehand, but the world had changed to a sunlit glade. Vibrant green grass matched the leaves of swaying trees, roses as deep as blood, peonies as pink and soft as a child’s cheek, daffodils rivalling the sun.

  Titania kissed Sam on the forehead. The mark of her lips felt cold. As cold as any of Maggie’s kisses. ‘This is your place too, Samuel, can you feel it?’

  Sam stared out at the beautiful place. It felt like home, like a garden on the doorstep of Heaven. He did feel it, as if he’d been made from the earth itself. He couldn’t help smiling.

  Sam’s feet moved forward before he’d even thought of walking, as if the air pulled him onwards. This was his place. At least part of him belonged.

  Queen Titania returned his smile. ‘That’s right, go and explore. Then you will understand what we must do.’

  Sam strolled a path that led him through flower-rich gardens. Fairies of many colours watered flower beds and planted seeds in the dirt, kissing each seed before pushing it into the soil. Under towers of sunflowers, a shimmering bevy of green fairies tended to small animals. A lizard waited patiently as two fairies wound a bandage around its wounded tail. They had some trouble as the tail flicked and flapped of its own will. It settled when they attached the last clasp. A trio of fairies administered a tonic to a brood of ducklings. A fairy in red crooned at a mouse and sewed up a gash along its side. When the fairy finished, he rubbed the mouse’s ears, whispered in them and let the little grey ball of fuzz go.

  It looked so tender that Sam felt angry at Maggie and the other monsters for threatening it. He thought he understood why Titania was grieving. It was such a sweet place. He felt a tingle inside, his fairy side waking. His back tickled as if wings were deciding whether to grow or not.

  He followed the path, which took him down to a white sand shore. The sun glittered off a blueberry-dark ocean, and sea sprites skated across the surface, their silver wings flittering and the scales of their skin catching in the light. They played ball with a pod of dolphins. Sam couldn’t understand the scoring system, but the dolphins were winning. The sprites’ silver faces twisted with frustration, and the dolphins were cackling and bumping backs in celebration. One broke the water surface, did a dance, its tail flicking water before it dived back head first.

  Yes, Sam thought, if it were my world, I would do anything to save it. He sighed, realising he was half fairy, so this was his world. He should be looking after it.

  He walked with his head down for a few steps. When he looked up, he faced a series of trees, their branches so intertwined his path was blocked.

  There didn’t seem anywhere else to go in this direction. A sprite waved, he waved back.

  Sam turned towards the glade, when a fairy in a yellow-green suit and wings as gauzy as spiderwebs picked him up.

  ‘Would you like to fly, boy?’ the beech fairy asked. And there was air under him and Sam soared through the sky. The beech fairy let him go and Sam readied to fall in alarm, but he continued to glide, moving at a ferocious speed. Underneath him, hay-yellow meadows blurred into jade forests and topaz seas. He rose higher until he trembled with the cold and he could see nothing below him but a mountain range of clouds. It was exhilarating, like flying with Daniel, although a lot colder.

  A flock of fairies with pale faces and white and grey attire glided beside him. As Sam had flown before, he was not as in awe of the experience as he otherwise might have been, and he was more interested in the fairies who travelled with him. They changed shape; when they flew faster they stretched. If one slowed it seemed to squish and condense.

  ‘Are you made of clouds?’ Sam asked.

  ‘No, clouds are made of us,’ one said.

  Sam laughed and spread his arms out, the fresh air buoying him up and up as he glided with the cloud fairies.

  One of the fairies left dove-grey trails and spun in the air, creating a small cloud. Another fairy flew around it until the cloud grew bigger and softer and turned into a comfortable-looking cumulus cloud. They all flew through it; Sam came out wet.

  He shivered, invigorated by the fog against his skin.

  ‘He’s cold, Nimbus. Let’s toast the little princeling.’

  Five or six of the grey fairies grabbed him, laughing and leading him down and down until he could see the ground again. He hooted with them, their cries bursting over red earth rising in ruddy peaks and sinking into dark valleys.

  He gasped as they flew him over a volcano. It was magnificent. The air breathed out warm from its red mouth, drying Sam and filling his nose with the smell of molten rubies and diamonds. The fairies let him go and he fell; this time he screamed, sure he would drop inside the glowing gold-swirling mountain. He cried out to the fairies flickering over him, reaching for them, when the up-flow of the warm air righted him and set him down on the outside slope of the volcano.

  Sam fell to the hot ground panting so hard he became dizzy. He giggled with relief, his breath so thin he wheezed. The hot, thin air made him giddy. He peered to the clouds. The fairies had gone and left him. He guessed cold grey cloud fairies wouldn’t much like the heat of a volcano.

  He sat down on the slope and decided he didn’t think this volcano was at all like the poster on his Science class wall. It seemed alive, sounded alive, a gurgling ogre turning and moaning.

  A copper-coloured face popped right up in front of him. It had bright embers for eyes and its wings were glowing gold. A molten fairy.

  ‘Pan?’ it cried, and then, ‘No,’ in childlike disappointment.

  ‘Boy though,’ crackled another.

  ‘Come on, boy. Come on in, come on in. Good for you,’ they called, and the words crackled and spluttered like splitting rock.

  Molten fairies flew above the mouth of the volcano and gestured him to climb, Sam scrabbled towards them and when he stood on the lip of the volcano he saw the slithering lava turning, eddying and washing in the crater below.

  ‘Closer, boy. Don’t slip,’ whispered a fairy at his ear. Sam smelt his hair singeing.

  He stepped down on to the ledge inside the volcano, and the moving flow of lava stopped. Sam stepped back, gaping as it opened one golden eye. The lava sat up, as golden, bronze and fiery as its skin appeared; when the creature was fully awake and looming over him, oh, how the heat burned from it.

  The molten fairies pointed at Sam’s open mouth and giggled.

  It was a dragon. A running map of melting rock covered its scales and wings, and it spread them out to show Sam how terrifying it was. The very soul of a living mountain.

  Sam sweated in its presence and his heart beat so hard that it drowned out the cracking and churning of the volcano itself. It was terrifying; it was magnificent. If Daniel flew him right up to the sun, he didn’t think he would ever see anything so amazing.

  Sam understood why a dragon’s bones could do magic.

  It opened its mouth, Sam guessed to spray him with fire or magma, and he put his hand up, in useless defence. The fairies buzzed about it and the dragon cocked its head, doglike, and leaned closer to look at Sam. Its nose moved so near him, Sam burned, his face growing red. It sniffed him and blew a stream of fire into the sky. Then it slid back into its bath of liquid rock and gazed at him a last time out of one eye before closing it.

  There was nothing to see but lava.

  From his lookout on the rim of the volcano Sam stared, all the way to the sea again, which was so far. The view disappeared only because his eye could see no further. He frowned. Not like looking over Brighton B
each. There the distance dropped away because … because …

  He remembered … the Earth was round, it had a horizon.

  This was not Earth, nowhere near it, and to not have a horizon meant it was flat and magic. Beyond that Sam didn’t know.

  He looked out at the not-horizon. The sea was a deeper blue than a few seconds before and the sun was lowering itself down the sky.

  He sat and watched the sun. It made a rapid descent into the sea, a glowing golden coin dropped into the water.

  It sizzled and Sam saw steam rise off the waves. Around it, tiny silhouettes danced.

  The dragon didn’t wake up again. It would have been dangerous to climb into its nest to ask it any questions, even if it didn’t answer with a mouthful of fire.

  He had no idea where he was, and the molten fairies had disappeared.

  He also realised he was hungry. It hadn’t seemed that long ago that he’d had breakfast, although he hadn’t felt like eating with Woermann growling at him from the other side of the table. Half a piece of toast, Sam remembered. He studied the sizzling sunset again. Even that must have been hours ago.

  He stood wondering if something would magically appear to help him fly again, but nothing and no one did. He looked about; the best way down was to climb.

  He peered below, into a canopy of trees and saw beneath him, glowing in the doused light, glossy blue balls. He was so far away they looked the size of berries; the trees themselves were twig-sized so he was going to have a climb a long way to get to them. Sam hoped they tasted good. They might be nice to eat.

  Sam’s heart beat in a happy rhythm and he realised he was smiling. He couldn’t help it, as if everything would be all right, as if he’d found a place that sang inside him.

  He climbed down the mountain. The volcano top itself was easy enough – it was a cone, after all – and though it was steep, it was at enough of an angle for him to descend in a careful walk. He took off his shoes, though, so his clever gargoyle feet would hold him to the mountain top. He was built for Faeryland.

  The smell of fruit carried up sweet and strong from the trees below, making him laugh again, although he couldn’t have said why. The fruit shimmered blue at him, nesting in tree boughs, and he had to have them. The smell reminded him of sleep and of sitting in the garden reading a book. He clambered faster.

  * * *

  He woke on a ledge. He must have fallen asleep, but couldn’t remember doing it. The sun waited behind the mountain, casting light over the trees to his right and left. The trees in front lingered in darkness, but he was hungrier than ever.

  Sam descended the sheer wall of the mountain. Below him, the base of the forest was darkness. Even with his gargoyle eyes, he could see nothing. He hoped when the sunlight hit he would see ground.

  He climbed and did not think about it, putting down one hand, one foot, one hand, one foot until he came to another lip and could rest and have a look around.

  He was lucky he had so much gargoyle in him. He had come a long way and the ground seemed much closer. He wondered if that was magic too, if the mountain hadn’t shrunk to make his descent easier.

  He patted the side of the mountain. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  The mountain shuddered. As much as he appreciated the reply, he didn’t think he liked earthquakes.

  One tree grew close to the mountain wall, and Sam saw three blue fruits right in front of him, nestled in the V of branches. They were the size of melons, and the smell … like waking up in the Kavanaghs’ house for the first time, like being wrapped in Beatrice’s sparkles, like being kissed on the forehead by Michelle. He leaned towards the fruit, and he could have sworn the tree leaned away.

  It wasn’t that far and he was agile enough, so he jumped for it, his nose full of kisses and sparkles. The tree lurched and Sam screamed, partly because trees shouldn’t move and it was so tall it was a five-storey fall to the ground and many branches for him to hit on the way.

  Sam plummeted towards the green earth.

  CHAPTER 19

  Avine shot out from the tree and held Sam’s wrist, catching him, so he didn’t drive into the ground. It wrenched his wrist and elbow, and Sam dangled by one sore arm from the tree branch.

  Sam wriggled in its tight grip, feeling his hand go cold as the vine cut blood flow. He tried to unravel it with his other hand when another tendril of ivy slid over his face. It shot over, manacled his free wrist and lifted him, so he dangled under the tree.

  ‘Please, put me down,’ Sam said.

  ‘It speaks words, my lovelies. What are you?’ a voice asked. ‘Don’t have wings, so you’re not a fairy.’

  The vines swung him around to show his back to the direction of the voice.

  ‘I’m not a fairy. No.’

  ‘Got no wings, not glowing, not green, not anything we recognise.’

  The trees and bushes whispered to Sam. He couldn’t understand what they were saying.

  ‘They’re right, you know,’ the voice said. ‘If you had any magic you’d have flown away in a second.’

  Sam closed his eyes. He had no magic at all, nothing to protect himself from this moving forest. He wondered what they would do to him.

  ‘You won’t harm us, will ye?’ the voice asked.

  ‘Me? Harm you?’ Sam could hear the voice coming from the bushes, but he couldn’t see anyone. Maybe the forest was speaking to him. ‘I wouldn’t harm you at all. Couldn’t harm you.’

  ‘It do look that way. We’ll let you go then.’

  The vines freed Sam’s wrists, and he dropped, bracing himself for a hard fall. He bounced instead into a pile of leaves. It winded him, and he stared up at the blue-fruited tree leaning over him, its leaves shivering.

  ‘So, my ’andsome,’ the voice continued. ‘Y’arnt a fairy, y’arnt a star, though I saw you fall, and y’arnt a dragon, and here be dragons and all manner of things from the ether. So I suggest, for your own sake, and until you are certain of what you be, a creature like ’ee should avoid fairy food. Fairies come here harvestin’, and we’re all quiet and shady when they’re about, but you don’t look to be belongin’ here and if’n thou eat fairy food, thou could never leave Faeryland without every day being an agony of ague and aches and coughin’s and crackin’s.’

  ‘Hello,’ said Sam, and sat up. Was it the tree speaking?

  ‘Hello,’ the voice replied, and Sam saw movement. The trees swung towards it and waved their branches.

  ‘One-i’-the-Wood,’ the voice said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  The voice said, ‘I. Be. Called. One. In-the-Wood. What’s your name?’

  ‘One-i’-the-Wood?’

  ‘Are you sure? I thought that was me.’

  The voice sounded friendly enough, but it moved closer and not being able to see who was talking unsettled Sam. He scanned the woods again.

  The bushes nearer him shook, and bees scattered. A tumble of sticks fell out of the shrubbery.

  ‘They always want to be hugging an’ holding me, they do.’ The voice seemed to come from the bundle. Sam saw it move, heard it speak, but it was dead twigs and a few leaves. The top part was woven wood and looked the size of a large melon, although not as round. It was stuck with flowers and bits of fruit.

  Sam gulped. He stared harder and blinked. The more he looked, the more the bits seemed to make up a kind of face. A large palm leaf sat atop it, the two raspberries could have been eyes, there was a daisy that might have been a nose, and a leaf for a mouth, the ends lifted in a smile. Then he couldn’t see anything but a face.

  ‘Hello?’ Sam said.

  ‘Yes, we’ve done that, but what we’ve not established is what you’re called.’

  The twig person lifted its leaf. Its hat, Sam realised. It put it down on the edge of the moss bed Sam had fallen into and scratched the top of its head.

  ‘Samuel Kavanagh,’ Sam replied. ‘That’s my name.’ He sighed; he missed the Kavanaghs. He offered his hand, and One-i’-the-Wood looked at it and s
tuck out its own gnarled dead branch of an arm. Sam took it, feeling the hard twigs in his fingers, and gently shook. He did not want to break One-i’-the-Wood’s arm.

  ‘That’s a strange custom. Anyway, the trees don’t like being climbed; nonetheless, they’ll tolerate it if they hafta, but that good tree saw you weren’t no fairy thing and done you a great service by not letting you have its fruit. You’d have been addled and lain down directly in this here bed o’ moss and stranded here forever. You don’t want to be a fairy’s plaything, do you?’

  ‘No, I really don’t.’

  ‘Well, OK then. End of forest sermon. Are you a-sleepin’ or a-gettin’ up? I don’t mind you havin’ my bed for a bit, but I’ll want it back soon enough.’

  Sam didn’t want to sleep and felt he wouldn’t want a stranger lobbing into his bed, so he said, ‘I need to get back.’

  ‘How did you come to be here, Samuel Kavanagh?’

  ‘I was invited here by Queen Titania.’

  ‘Ooh, my,’ One-i’-the-Wood spluttered. ‘You are a fairy’s plaything. The fairy’s plaything. You’re not wanting to go back to her, surely?’

  ‘Not especially, although your world is very beautiful.’ Sam’s head cleared. Faeryland was as dangerous as it was lovely and had befuddled him. He’d almost forgotten how he got there.

  One-i’-the-Wood waved aside the compliment. ‘So, what are you wanting to get back to?’

  ‘I need to get back to my friends, they’re in a very bad situation.’

  ‘And I expect they’re somewhere else.’

  ‘In another world completely.’

  ‘Well, you’re a mighty long way from anywhere where you could start your way to finding them if you really hafta. You need a door.’

  ‘A door?’

  ‘A door between here and there. How did you get here?’

  ‘My world just melted away, and then I was here.’

  ‘Oooh, that takes a lot of magic. The queen must have really wanted to impress ’ee.’