Emma and the Silverbell Faeries

by Matthew S. Cox

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  © 2018 Matthew S. Cox

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  Cover Art by Eugene Teplitsky

  http://eugeneteplitsky.deviantart.com/

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  ISBN 978-1-94809-960-8 (ebook)

  ISBN 978-1-94809-961-5 (paperback)

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  ontent to stroll along the road in no great hurry, Emma smiled up at a bright blue sky filled with puffy clouds of all shapes and sizes. She basked in the sun on her face and the mush of cool dirt between her toes.

  The air would soon take on the chill of winter, but the afternoon still held enough warmth for swimming―at least in her opinion. Tam never seemed to care about cold water. He’d probably leap into the creek with snow on the ground if Mama didn’t tell him not to. In another week or two, she wouldn’t permit any of them to play in the water until spring. Emma tried not to let the approaching season dampen her mood. With winter came the need for boots, which made it her least favorite time of the year.

  The past two weeks had gone by faster than Emma expected, and she had dutifully kept her word to Da and not used a lick of magic until her punishment time ended. No further sign of thieves or danger had shown up in Widowswood since Nan’s ritual, and aside from boring, the two weeks had been pleasant. Loud too, as the workmen Da hired to add on to their home had lately been hammering away from soon after sunrise to late in the afternoon. Today, Mama had sent her into the village to bring spices and seasonings to Eoghn’s Inn, the first time she’d been permitted out of sight of her, Da, or Nan since she’d run off into the woods to scout the location of the thieves. Of course, Tam’s knocking over a bucket of tools and scaring one of the workers had played a large part in Mama sending them off on an errand. Emma grinned, her chest full of warmth at Mama’s trust, and remained intent on her mission to watch over her younger siblings.

  She carried a parcel of glass bottles wrapped in burlap under her left arm, her right hand kept a firm grip on Tam’s. Kimber traipsed along on the boy’s right, holding his other hand. Between the two of them, they could hold him back from darting off if he saw something interesting.

  Kimber’s mood seemed as sunny as Emma’s; she smiled at everything and everyone, from villagers to animals to rocks they passed on the way into town. The girl had added white and pink ribbons in her bright red hair to go with her plain white dress, and a little circlet of wildflowers around her left ankle.

  Tam insisted on a grey tunic because it made him feel like he wore the armor of a knight. He carried his fancy new practice sword tucked in a belt of rope about his waist. Its maker had crafted it to look as much like a real sword as wood allowed, though the blade had a rounded edge that stood up to being knocked about. Da told him real soldiers trained with similar wooden replicas, only bigger ones.

  Mrs. Harrow waved from the small garden in front of her house. Wonderful aromas, a mixture of bread and fruit pie, wafted from the doorway behind her. A little brown remained in her mostly grey hair, matching her well-worn dress. Wrinkles around her eyes deepened with her smile. “Mafindwel, children.”

  Emma released her brother’s hand for a few seconds to return the wave. “Morning, Mrs. Harrow.”

  The boy waved as well, and made no effort to avoid her grasp when she reached for his hand again. “C’we ’ave pie?”

  “It’s still baking,” whispered Emma. “And I don’t think she’s making it for us.”

  He pouted, but disappointment faded in mere seconds.

  Kimber stood on tiptoe to fling her arm around in an exuberant greeting while yelling, “Hiiiiii!” at the elderly woman.

  The downhill path wound past a few more houses and on to the Village of Widowswood. Near the end of the dirt road where it met the cobbled streets of the town center, a bevy of chickens congregated, casually avoiding an older teenaged boy trying to round them up. Emma stepped around their droppings, and had to give Tam a gentle tug to the side to stop him from walking right into one. The teen paused in his pursuit to let the children pass, offering a warm, if tired, smile of greeting. A nearby white goat chewed on something and appeared to be laughing at the older boy’s futile effort.

  Emma stepped from dirt onto sun-warmed cobblestones that chased the mid-autumn chill from her toes. Kimber squealed and cringed at a sudden spray of water from a chicken fluttering in a puddle. She spent a moment fretting over a few dirty spots on her dress, but wound up giggling.

  The road curved to the left a few minutes later, leading them past a few shops and into a light crowd. Kimber still hadn’t gotten used to people smiling at her (instead of shying away to guard their coin purses), and kept grinning and waving at anyone who made eye contact. Five shops later, Emma followed the first right turn, taking the street that connected to the town square.

  Mr. Carrow hovered in the door of his bakery shop. He gave Emma a polite nod, though watched the three of them the way a banker might watch men in dark cloaks trying to flank him. He leaned on the doorjamb, blocking it off as though expecting them to try to get past him. The man tolerated children well enough, provided they stayed out of his bakery.

  Emma returned his nod, but didn’t bother with a false smile or even looking at him for long. Someone who had to force himself to be polite to children wasn’t the sort of man she wanted anything to do with. And she most certainly would never spend so much as a single copper bit there.

  Other townspeople met them with genuine smiles. More distant people waved, others patted her on the head whenever she came within arm’s reach. Since she’d been taken by the thieves and found safe, most everyone had heard about her magic. It seemed as though the whole village expected her to follow in Mama’s footsteps, wandering the town and caring for those within. She grinned back at the locals, tolerating all the squeezing and hugging. Though it annoyed her a little, she bore it with aplomb. Nan had told her she shouldn’t feel obligated to let anyone touch her if it bothered her, but she always kept quiet since they all seemed so friendly; she didn’t want to be rude. Large helpings of affection made her feel happy and welcome, a much better greeting than people running and screaming―something Da had been concerned about should they ever visit a larger city where not everyone would be so open and trusting of ‘forest witchery.’

  The town square looked empty in the absence of the Feast of Zaravex. A few wilted flowers and birds pecking at moldy bits of sweetbread here and there proved it hadn’t been too long since the holiday, but with all the visitors from outlying villagers having gone home, it seemed as though half the town had vanished.

  Guards Arnir and Filner stood by the fountain, chuckling amid conversation. They greeted her with broad smiles before returning to their amusement at what some fool did last night after having too much ale.

  Tam got a whiff of baking chicken coming from Eoghn’s Inn, and leaned forward; if not for Kimber and Emma holding his hands, he’d have fallen flat on his front. “C’we eat?”

  “’Et smell good,” said Kimber.

  Emma pulled her brother upright. “We’ve got food at home.”

  “Aww.” Tam made faces at the ground.

  The porch
creaked as they climbed the three steps and walked into a blanket of warm air laden with the fragrance of wood smoke, spices, and cooking meat. Emma’s mouth watered at the mixture of roast chicken, ham, and beef stew on each breath, biting her lip at a touch of guilt. Strixian would allow her to speak to any of those animals… eating them seemed wrong, yet sniffing the air made her stomach growl.

  Can wolves talk to rabbits? She scrunched up her nose in thought.

  Almost every eye in the room shifted toward them. Except for two well-dressed men, the eleven or so other people seated at tables had all gone into the woods to search when the thieves had abducted her and Kimber. Neither outsider paid them more than a seconds’ worth of attention. Emma didn’t mind since those men didn’t know her, and most adults paid little attention to village children. Between the warmth of the hearth and the sea of smiling faces, the room radiated a tangible feeling of safety.

  Tam poked her in the belly. “You’re hungry too.”

  Kimber giggled.

  “I didn’t say we won’t eat.” Emma huffed. “Mama’s making us food. And we don’t have any money.”

  Tam blinked. “Money? I don’t wanna eat money.”

  Emma smiled at everyone while she walked up to the bar, the counter at the level of her chin. “Mr. Cooper sells food. It’s not like home where Mama just feeds us.”

  His jaw dropped open. “You gotta pay money for food?”

  “If’n ya donnae ’ave any money, ya donnae eat,” whispered Kimber. “S’why I ’ad ta find apples ’afore.”

  The girl’s expression didn’t look as sad as she sounded, but Emma still winced inside at reminding her of the past. “Sorry.”

  Kimber smiled. “I’as okay. I’as happy now.”

  “Mafindwel, Emma,” said Eoghn Cooper, his deep voice raining down on them from above.

  Emma peered up at a small giant; reddish cheeks and curly ginger hair left no doubt in her mind the man was Rydh’s father, though the boy lacked his father’s immense, curved moustache. Fortunately, the elder Cooper had an entirely different temperament from his son, being gentle and reserved, despite his enormous size.

  “Good morning, Mr. Cooper.” She put the bundle up on the bar. “Mama sent me to bring this for you.”

  “Ahh, grand!” He plucked the parcel open and appraised eight bottles. Two held liquid, one orange, one dark green, while the rest contained powders or finely chopped herbs. “Most excellent. Wait here a moment, girl. I’ve something to send back.”

  Emma nodded and glanced out over the dining area while the big man ambled into the kitchen through a curtained archway, carrying the bottles. The two well-dressed men went on about their meal as though the children didn’t exist, while the locals continued to offer the occasional warm smile.

  Sharp clicking footsteps approaching from behind made Emma turn.

  A girl about her age, though a bit taller, approached with a hesitant step. She seemed familiar, but no name came to mind. Her light brown hair hung to her waist in lush curls, adorned with a half-circlet of flowers around the back of her head. The cream-colored gown she wore, elaborate and puffy, filled Emma with an immediate sense of discomfort at the idea of being trapped in such a garment. Her white leggings and shoes didn’t have so much as a tiny smudge of dirt anywhere on them, and the faint scent of lilac clung to her.

  It took Emma a second to remember that she’d seen the girl before in a lemon-yellow gown at the Harvest Hunt… the daughter of a wealthy family, the one who hadn’t wanted to touch anything on the field. She’d seemed so afraid of dirt, she’d not bothered to pick up a single firefruit, merely walked around observing and trying not to get too close to anyone running around.

  “Hello,” said Emma.

  “Hi,” chirped Kimber.

  “Is she a princess?” whispered Tam.

  “You’re Emma?” asked the girl. “Your father is the captain of the Watch?”

  “Yes.” She nodded.

  “I’m Ambril.” She regarded the dress Nan had made with a faint cringe.

  Emma put her arms around her siblings. “This is my brother Tam, and my sister Kimber.”

  Ambril cracked a smile at the look on Tam’s face. “I’m not a princess. My father sells glassware, windows, and sometimes jewelry.”

  “Oh. Mr. Starling.” Emma bit her lip in thought. “Da talks about him sometimes.”

  “I’d imagine so.” Ambril rolled her eyes. “People always try to steal from us. Father has a jewelry store in Calebrin, so they think he sells expensive things here too, but he doesn’t bother with much that’s too precious here.” She glanced down, a hint of confusion in her eyes.

  Sensing the girl staring at her feet, Emma raised and lowered her toes. “What’s wrong?”

  “You’re not poor,” whispered Ambril. “Your Da’s family has some standing in Calebrin… Why do you run about dressed like a peasant?”

  Emma narrowed her eyes. The girl hadn’t added any venom to her words, but even in an innocent tone, the question carried contempt. “It makes me happy to feel the grass when I walk, and I adore being close to the forest.”

  Ambril clasped her hands together in front of her, and bit her lip. “But you’re covered in dirt.”

  “We’as not cover’d ’n dirt. You’as tae clean,” muttered Kimber. She pulled her white dress out, studying it. “I’as not dirty.”

  Tam got a wild glint in his eye as if he intended to show Ambril what ‘getting covered in dirt’ really looked like. Before he could run off and dive headfirst into a mound of earth, Emma squeezed his hand.

  “Fancy dresses and nice things make you happy,” said Emma. “The forest makes me happy.”

  “Oh.” Ambril looked her up and down again. “Doesn’t it hurt walking around with no shoes?”

  Emma smiled. “Doesn’t it get exhausting walking around with such a heavy dress on?”

  “Da did get Em a nice dress, but she like Nan’s more.” Tam patted his wooden sword. “You look like a princess. If a dragon comes to take you ’way, I’ll p’tect ya.”

  Ambril grinned. “That’s cute, but I don’t think dragons are real.”

  “Emma said a bandy-wee not real an’ a bandy-wee got us.” Tam puffed up his chest. “I’m not ’fraid of dragons.”

  “Did that really happen?” Ambril narrowed her eyes at Emma. “Is it true what they say? That you’re a little forest witch?”

  Emma giggled. “I’m not a witch. I’m a druid.”

  “Oh.” Ambril’s suspicion faded; she raised and lowered her head in a slow nod, agreeing but not understanding.

  “’Ere ya are, Em.” Mr. Cooper set a cloth sack on the bar top. “This is for you an’ yours. Oh, would you mind doin’ an old man a favor on your way home?”

  Ambril offered a quick wave and hurried back to a table where two women sat, both in equally elaborate gowns. One looked enough like her to be her mother.

  “What sort of favor?” asked Emma.

  Mr. Cooper held up another, somewhat larger, sack. “Would you ferry this over to Widow Poole’s place? They’re a bit on ’ard times, so I’m ’elpin’ them out.”

  “Of course.” Emma reached up.

  Kimber carried the bag destined for home, while Emma took Widow Poole’s. The fragrance of onions and cheese seeped from the fabric, and the form of a large round bread loaf pressed obvious in the bottom. She slung it over her left shoulder and held Tam’s hand as they walked out of the inn and headed across the town square to a road leading north. At first, they passed more shops: a general store, a weaponsmith, a potter, a tanner, and a leatherworker’s. After a few cross-streets, they walked among private homes. Those nearest the town center belonged to people with money, but before long, the houses grew smaller and plainer, and once they neared the outskirts, ill-kept and tiny. Alley cats and the occasional lamb, chicken, or goat wandered around in the street. One breath caught the smell of baking bread, the next something foul and sharp, like spoiled wine.

  T
he closer they got to the part of town where the poorest residents lived, the more nervous Kimber became. By the time they’d passed eight cross-streets, the girl hovered so close her breath warmed the back of Emma’s neck.

  “He’s gone,” whispered Emma.

  “I’as know.” Kimber looked around. “I’as ’fraid o’ thieves what wan’ tae bring me ta’ Cal-brin.”

  Emma glanced over her shoulder at terrified green eyes set in a porcelain face. “They don’t have any reason to come after you.”

  “They’as said I hadda go back wif ’em an’ be a proper thief.” Kimber jumped at a sudden loud crack and a boy’s wail of pain.

  Two small pigs zoomed across the street a few houses up ahead.

  “Those thieves only wanted to scare us. If they wanted you in Calebrin, they’d have taken you away from that awful man.” Emma giggled at a third pig racing onto the road so fast its hooves scuffed and skidded. The small animal wiped out and rolled into the door of a hut across the street, squealing in panic.

  “Pigs got loose,” said Tam. “They’s too small ta be Hadrath’s.”

  “Someone’s hurt.” Emma moved up to a jog. “And Hadrath doesn’t live here. His farm is a long walk south of town.”

  Another small pig wandered onto the road and stopped, staring at them. Emma hurried to the corner where it had come from and hooked a left. Three houses down, a shirtless boy in tattered brown shorts and a thick layer of mud sat on the dirt by a broken gate, cradling his hand to his chest while crying. Most of his face hid behind an unruly mane of black that hung an inch or two past his shoulders. An older woman with steel grey hair stooped over him, attempting to coax his injury into view. Behind them, two piglets remained within a fenced area next to a rickety-looking one-room cabin, while nine or ten larger pigs milled around the field outside, snuffling at the dirt as if searching for buried treasure.

  A woman in the house behind them shouted and chased a pig out of her home with a broom.

  Emma hurried over to the elder. “Mrs. Poole… What happened?”

  The boy, probably a year or so younger than Emma, blushed and bowed his head.