by Helen Fox
“Where are you going now?” asked Plato.
She shrugged her shoulders and more tears rolled down her face. “We don’t know,” she sobbed. “We’re seeking refuge. We’ll keep walking until we find one.”
Plato spotted Wilfred sitting by the old oak tree, his head buried in his hands.
“Wilfred,” he called, “we heard what happened. Aren’t you going with your people?”
“No, I’m not. I’ve been the leader of my people for many long years and we’ve been happy in our old oak tree. I shall die here, Plato.”
“Who are the horse flies, Wilfred? Where did they come from?” Plato asked.
“Horse flies,” Wilfred replied, “are bigger than us and vicious. The females bite humans, animals and all sorts of other creatures, to get protein for bigger and healthier clusters of eggs. They lived in a cattle and horse farm some distance from here. The farmer must have sprayed the air with some kind of chemical to get rid of them and they fled here. It breaks my heart to see my people wandering like refugees to find a place to live.”
“All is not lost,” said Plato, patting Wilfred on the shoulder. “Where there’s life there’s always hope. Now, shake yourself, put some life back into your face and come with me. You must see what we have brought.”
Wilfred looked puzzled. “What could you have brought us?” he said with a sigh.
Plato touched the green basket and spoke. “Here are your wounded men whom Tawny Owl our nurse has treated and brought back to life.” He opened the green lid and out poured the wood flies, running in all directions and hiding in the grass. “And here” - he touched the brown basket - “is where we gathered your dead, a total waste of life because you fell for the grasshopper’s atrocious scheme. Thelma has never refused kindly creatures to live in the valley and never has she spoken cruelly or insulted anyone. I would have expected better from you, Wilfred, for you’ve known the grasshopper’s devious nature and you shouldn’t have trusted him. You should have stopped Hugo.”
“It was taken out of my hands, Plato. Our people backed him. They voted for his plan.”
“You should have put your foot down and stopped him. You had the power as senior head.”
“He got rid of me cause I was objecting to his plans. He threw me in the old people’s hollow, Plato, my own son!”
Plato shook his head. Then he looked Wilfred straight in the eye and spoke in an earnest voice. “We have returned the injured wood flies, and honoured your dead. Now we want to take Thelma back to Blossom Valley.”
Wilfred’s jaw dropped and his voice trembled. A chilling thought seized Plato’s mind.
“Hugo brought Thelma in and left her on the ground.”
“She’s all yours,” he shouted in a loathsome voice.
I stared at him. I didn’t recognise my own son. There was such fury and hatred in his eyes, I had never seen before.
“Does the body of this spider weigh as much as the bodies of our men that died?” I asked him. He shot me a hateful glare and fled. Good job too! Hugo is dead as far as I’m concerned. I thought Thelma had passed out. I kept talking to her, poking her gently on her sides, but got no response. Her body had gone cold and rigid. She was dead.”
Plato gulped with shock. George let out a throaty caw and his mouth stayed open.
“Me and a few females, took her to the yew trees, not far from here. There’s a thick cluster of forest daisies and we laid her down there. We covered her with leaves and twigs to keep her body safe from wild creatures, for I knew you’d come for her. I am very sorry, Plato.”
The two birds turned their backs and rushed out. They searched under the twigs, parted the stems of the daisies and looked farther out, but Thelma’s body wasn’t to be found. Sadness clouded their faces.
“Some wild creature has already made a meal of her,” George whispered and broke out in tears. “But how do we know that she wasn’t beaten to death here?”
“If Wilfred says she was dead when they brought her here, that’s how it was. Wilfred doesn’t lie,” said Plato.
“Then it was Hugo and his men who...” George choked. “But Thelma was bold and strong, she wouldn’t have given up without a fight.”
“It depends how hard Hugo and his men came down on her, George.”
“Did they beat her hard? Did she suffer pain?”
“Your questions cannot be answered, George. Not that it matters now.” Plato said blinking back tears. “Thelma is dead!”
Both Plato and George, numbed by shock and grief, sat speechless, staring at the empty space. Then Plato shook himself up. “Let’s go and tell them, George,” he cried.
***
The valley grew still, wrapped in a shroud of grief and sorrow at the grave news. There was no movement, no stirring across the valley, until the third day when the burial of the dead birds was to take place.
The squirrels and rabbits dug the grave by the honeysuckle and all the bodies were laid in rows side by side. Every creature threw flowers over them and the grave was covered. Afterwards, Plato walked solemnly to the grave and placed a wreath made with glossy ivy and flaming red poppies. Everyone stood still and tearful for a minute’s silence, and then they joined the ant choir in a sad farewell song accompanied by Prince Orpheo’s flute.
Plato walked to the front of the gathered creatures and, looking straight across at the butterflies, spoke. “I promised to bring Thelma home alive but sadly, when George, and I got to Penny Clearing, we were told that Thelma was dead when she was taken there. We weren’t able to bring her body home, for we didn’t find it at the place where Wilfred had laid it nor anywhere else, we searched. So now we shall hold a service in memory of Thelma, the shrewd, but kind and caring, head of the creatures’ community of Blossom Valley.”
Just then, the cuckoo wheeled lazily over the assembled creatures, perched on the silver birch and started his song. “Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo. “ He paused for breath, then on and on he sang.
“He’s never stayed here this long,” a blackbird remarked, “and his singing isn’t his usual formal sort. It’s more joyful. Why isn’t he leaving? Is he waiting for something? Or somebody, a fellow cuckoo perhaps?”
While the cuckoo was still cuckooing, Swift flew into the valley, circled above the trees and announced. “Thelma is on her way home. She stressed that no one is to go out to meet her, and no fuss about her return is to be made.” Then Swift flew off and the cuckoo followed.
It took the creatures sometime to switch from grief to jubilation, but when gradually the unexpected sank in, they screamed and jumped and danced and cried with joy.
Twenty Three
Thelma was frail but her mind still possessed great strength and determination. She called all the creatures to a meeting. Everyone was eager and curious, for they thought Thelma would talk about her sufferings at the hands of Hugo’s men, or how she’d managed to fool Wilfred into believing that she was dead when she was taken to Penny Clearing. Instead, she delivered a speech that left the creatures bewildered and gobsmacked.
“Swift told me that Penny Clearing was attacked by the horse flies. Huge numbers of wood flies were killed or maimed, amongst them children and the elderly. They’re homeless. I heard they’ve been walking for days, searching for a new home, but to no avail. They’re tired and hungry. The elderly are dying under the scorching sun. They urgently need help and we must offer it to them.
“What?” the blackbirds protested. “Feel sorry for them, after what they did to us? If they hadn’t come out to invade us, they’d have been there to defend their people.”
“It was one mistake a mindless young leader made.” Thelma started. “He fell for the grasshopper’s scam. The grasshopper got what he deserved. He was killed by his own men, and Hugo, if he’s alive, will be haunted by shame and guilt all his life, which is wo
rse than death. I urge you to get rid of the anger in your hearts and replace it with compassion for these destitute creatures. Do you agree?”
Some quiet talking went on among the birds for a few long minutes. Then the blackbird leader came forward and spoke. “On behalf of all the birds, I say forgive and forget. You are an honourable creature, Thelma!”
“Thank you everyone,” Thelma said, her voice quivering with emotion. “Up on the far western side of our valley we have three great oak trees with huge hollows. There’s a stream close by and I think it’ll do nicely for the wood flies.”
She turned to George who was standing beside her. “Let’s go and bring them to their new home, George. We shall need the ambulance cart to transport the weak, the children and the old folk. Can you tell the hares, to pick me up at the gate, George, as my legs aren’t strong enough to hold me for the long walk.”
***
The refugees had been walking in the hot sun without food and water and were now at the point of exhaustion. An old wood fly collapsed and a mother with two children on her back complained she couldn’t walk another yard.
“We need to rest, Wilfred,” the old wood fly cried. “We’ve been walking non- stop for hours. The children are hot and bothered. We must rest. How much farther is this copse and the creek you’re taking us to?”
“I don’t know,” Wilfred replied with a sob. I’m not even sure we are heading in the right direction. It has been a very long time since I saw that place. I can’t think straight.” He broke down in tears, his body trembled and he collapsed.
A moment later a child cried out. “I can see a cart heading our way.”
“It must be the creatures of Blossom Valley. They’re the only creatures that have a cart,” said Wilfred forcing himself to stand on his feet. “Why are they coming?”
“They’re coming to wipe us out,” some of the females cried. “They’re only a few feet away.”
The cart stopped close to the crowd that had gathered around Wilfred. A child broke away and ran to George. He had tears in his eyes.
“Are you going to kill us?” he asked.
“No, child,” George replied. “We’ve come to help you.”
Thelma walked slowly over to Wilfred.
“Thelma!” Wilfred exclaimed. “It is you... how...I am...”
“Say no more, Wilfred,” Thelma interrupted. “No need to apologise. My creatures and I aren’t going to hold anything against you and your people.”
George looked at Thelma. “You ought to tell them,” he whispered.
Thelma nodded. She slowly walked in the middle of the wood flies, and with a big smile across her face, she said. “We are here, to take you to Blossom Valley with us. A corner of our valley with oak trees and hollows and a stream close by will be your new home. You will join our community and we shall all have a happy life.”
Wilfred was speechless. He tried to say something, but words wouldn’t come out. The females cried with joy and the children hugged and kissed each other.
Back in Blossom Valley, the creatures came out to welcome their new friends. Plato spoke to Wilfred. “I’m glad you’re here, old friend.”
“I didn’t want to leave my old home but the women told me they wouldn’t go without their old leader. We are grateful, Plato. You’re honourable creatures, all of you.”
***
“Hey, George,” Plato called, “now that peace has been restored and minds have eased, what do you say we go for a long flight just to refresh ourselves?”
“I say yes, Plato. Let’s do it,” George replied, his eyes gleaming with excitement. Plato took him over Penny Village, over the cornfields, over Penny River and stopped at the peak of Sunrise Hill.
“I brought you here, George,” he said in a calm earnest voice, “because I believe it is time that I revealed to you, the secret of the lost Kingdom of Blossom Valley. You must have wondered at times how Thelma, a spider, could be the head of Blossom Valley and why she treasured and protected the butterflies the way she did. So, here it is.
Blossom Valley, Plato started, was the oldest, greatest and the most beautiful Fairyland Kingdom in the world. Even some of the gods and goddesses of Mount Olympus came all the way from Greece to see it. They fell in love with it and almost set up home there but they were summoned back by Zeus, their great god.
Before they left, one of the goddesses gave Acacia, the Fairyland queen, a golden medallion with a big ebony stone in the middle. The gold would protect their immortality, she told her, and the ebony stone, their kingdom. The queen should wear it at all times, and each day, after the daylight dimmed, she was to touch the ebony stone and a veil would fall over the entire valley, making it invisible to the evil forces of darkness that roam over mountains and across valleys in the deep of the night.
“How come you know all this, Plato? Were you there?”
“Yes, I was, George. I have always been a close friend of Blossom Valley and what will follow, is what my very eyes saw. Please do not interrupt me again.
It was the night that Princess Estella was to become engaged to Orpheo, a prince from a faraway Kingdom. King Iolas and his Queen were busy greeting the guests who had come from different fairylands for the occasion. Dusk had already fallen, and when Queen Acacia went to touch the ebony stone, she realised she had forgotten to wear it. She rushed to her chambers, when... a distant bolt of lightning streaked down the whole length of the sky, and the mighty tearing noise of the thunder followed.
The valley shook. The trees swayed and trembled as black figures in purple robes and peaked hats riding on broomsticks, stormed the valley, growling, screaming and sniffing the air. Black smoke crackled from the tip of a wand, and a savage voice rang through the valley.
“I am the High Priestess of the Council of Tartarus. At long last, we now have your land and shall reign over it for many years to come.” The High Priestess, circled the valley on her broomstick examining the surroundings. Then she raised her wand and cast her spell. “Your palace will crumble and disappear in smoke, and you, my fairy beauties of this kingdom, and all the guests, shall be turned into revolting spiders.”
Almost at once the most beautiful creatures on earth became spiders, running terrified in all directions to hide.
Plato paused, his wet eyes distant, as he reached back in his mind for memories. He took a breath, then a deep long sigh, and continued.
The witches settled in, straightaway. Cauldrons frothed and bubbled, ghastly voices growled and screeched, and a vile stench filled the valley. An altar was erected in the middle of the valley, where dreadful, barbaric rites were performed. The altar was stained with the blood of squirrels, rabbits and birds that had been sacrificed, their skulls hanging on the surrounding tree branches - a chilling sight.
Some long weeks had passed when a great storm raged through the valley. Heavy rain pelted down, and fierce gusts of wind ripped trees and uprooted shrubs and bushes. Swirling masses of grass, twigs and plants, their flowers still clinging to life, were carried in torrents downhill and into the river. Amongst the masses of debris, were the bodies of the drowned spiders.
Blossom Valley had been waterlogged for some time and the witches had kept away. I flew in to see if any spiders had survived. A few came out of hiding. I couldn’t tell who they were, but they knew who I was.
“I’m Thelma, Plato,” one of them said. I knew Thelma had been Estella’s nanny since she was born, and the queen’s most trusted friend and advisor.
“Princess Estella,” she said, “and a few members of the family, King Iolas, and I survived the flood. All the guests except Prince Orpheo drowned. King Iolas, is lost in his sorrowful thoughts and keeps himself in hiding. But he did tell me that his queen was not with him at that time. She’d gone to pick up the golden medallion with the ebony stone she’d forgotten to wear. He believe
s she is buried under the rubble. Can you please help us to find her?”
I took three moles, good friends of mine. Moles have excellent senses of smell and hearing, and spade - like paws, for digging. The torrential rain had washed tons of rubble away which made the moles’ work easier. After hours of digging, they found Queen Acacia lying face down over her wand. Clasped in her hand, was the golden medallion. I took her and the surviving spiders to a safe place in the forest. After a long, anxious time, the queen recovered, and I took them back to the valley. I stayed with them.
The witches were preparing for a big celebration. An awards ceremony was to take place. The Great Wizard, master of wizards in all worlds, would award witches and priestesses for their life-time achievements.
Queen Acacia, held her wand tightly in her right hand, and taking great care, flew into a tree close by. The wizard hadn’t come yet. The cauldron was bubbling, and ten witches walked round it, chanting. Black smoke coiled through the trees, and a ghastly stench filled the air. On the altar, tied by their necks, lay animals howling and crying, for they knew they were about to be slaughtered. The queen pointed the tip of her wand directly at the witches, and cast her spell.
“Evil creatures, all ten of you shall be cursed. You will be buried deep in this crater for ten long fairy years, by which time you’ll have no flesh left on your bones.”
A golden bolt tore through the earth and a circular crater appeared. A silver cloud lifted the ten wailing witches and hurled them deep into the crater which at once filled with water and water lilies that floated on its still surface.
She was about to cast the wish upon the spiders and Blossom Valley, when the dreadful wizard with the High Priestess riding by his side, swooped low, turned upwards and snatched the queen’s wand in his raking claws. He cast his horrific spell.
“To the red mountain you shall fly and be turned to rock. I will send my hawks to peck on the rock until your flesh shows, and then...”
He hadn’t finished his spell but the queen had already disappeared. The wizard still held the queen’s wand in his other hand, but he didn’t know that in a stranger’s hand, the queen’s wand had reverse and disastrous effects.
