by Heidi Hanley
Genevieve picked up the small knapsack sitting beside her before reaching out to take Briana’s hand. Together, they headed deeper into the forest.
“Wait a minute.” She stopped, pointing to the dead tree across the river. “What happened to that?”
Jack Wells shook his head sadly. “That is one of our problems, and part of the reason that the prophecy must be fulfilled, and not a moment too soon. You see, even though faeries have been hiding themselves for many centuries, the trees remained, and occasionally a faerie could be found practicing magic. But Lord Shamwa has been in evil devil since he cursed the king. He’s been sending his Gray Military around the kingdom, killing the faerie trees. Once they’re gone, and the faeries with them, there will be no more magic in Uisneach. Part of your charge will be to help restore the forests.”
What could she possibly do to make it right? “You said one of your problems. Is there another, and am I meant to fix that, too?”
Jack and Genevieve smiled in tandem. “Oh, aye,” said Genevieve, with a twinkle in her eye. “It’s your first task. You’ve just got to save our king, who’s been locked away in a castle on the far side of Uisneach for ten years, cursed by Lord Shamwa, his own prime minister. Once the king is released, he’ll make everything right, and that’s the truth!”
Briana sighed. Magic trees, hidden doors, giant jewelry-wearing crows, kings, and political upheaval. It was too much! Best to just follow the gnomes along this yellow brick road. She positioned herself in between them and turned to meet the forest and what might just be her “Grand Adventure.” The yellow brick road turned out to be a dirt path that headed underneath a natural arch formed by several white birches on either side of the trail, like some kind of portal.
They walked for what seemed like hours. Considering that Jack said someone came daily to see if she’d arrived, she realized this must be very important to them, if they were making this trek every day. The trail twisted and turned through ancient woods over large, gnarly roots, at times requiring a scramble over boulders or downed trees. The forest wasn’t much different from those she hiked through at home, except maybe a little more primordial. Everything – the trees, the stones, the rippling brooks and even the air – was pure and crisp. Here and there she’d see an unfamiliar plant or flower, or a faerie tree, tall and slender with silver bark that glittered when a sunbeam found its way through the dense canopy to bounce off its trunk or branches. The purple leaves swayed in a rhythmic dance even though there was no breeze. Tiny mauve and pearly bells dangled in bunches and tinkled mellifluously, the sound reminding her wistfully of the wind chimes in her garden at home. The Wellses stopped and began whispering something that sounded like a prayer or blessing. They started to move again. Briana turned back to the tree with a sudden thought. “Did any of the destroyed trees have faeries still in them?”
“Yes, milady,” Jack answered mournfully, his head bowed down in grief. Tears welled in Genevieve’s eyes.
Briana raged at the disregard this Lord Shamwa had for the life of the forest. As they walked, Briana saw no sign of humans, no trash, artificial bridges or clear-cuts. It was as though she and the Wellses were the first to ever walk through here. They didn’t say much as they walked but the chatter in her mind more than made up for the lack of conversation. Okay, she told herself, the stress of everything going on in my life caused me to have some kind of mental breakdown while I was out gardening. In an effort to avoid the reality of Dad’s death, my mind just decided to go on some kind of shamanic journey. Yeah, that’s it. Pretty soon, I’m going to snap out of it and have a fabulous story to tell. So, if that’s the case, I may as well relax and enjoy it. This idea calmed her. She paid attention to the vibrant flowers above three-lobed leaves and the feathery fronds that carpeted the forest floor. Her ears tuned in to the individual sounds of forest life; in the distance, she heard a waterfall. As they continued, the sound of falling water grew louder. The gnomes walked around the side of a gargantuan boulder and pushed aside some small trees to reveal a white ribbon of water dropping a hundred feet or more into a pool of clarion water. Sunlight streamed down through the leafy treetops, blessing the open space created by the enchanting falls and its pool.
“Like a rest, milady?” asked Genevieve. “You’ll never drink water more fresh or cold than right here at Faerie Falls.”
“Faerie Falls,” she repeated, delighted by its mystical beauty. “Are there real faeries here?” she asked, half teasing.
“Aye, there might be, but they aren’t likely to let you see them – at least, not yet. Faeries are rather shy around newcomers,” Jack said. In a stage whisper, he added, “Even when the newcomer is the Mouse of the Prophecy.” He leaned nearer to Briana and really did whisper, “That might draw one or two out, but I doubt it. They’ll be takin’ their dear time about meeting you.”
Briana shook her head in amazement and leaned down to get a drink from the pool. She cupped the water and smiled at the mini-world beneath the surface. Dazzling colored fish darted among colorful rocks in a now-you–see-them-now-you-don’t kind of way. Cold, sweet water satisfied a thirst she hadn’t been aware of until the first drop touched her lips. Birdsong echoed against the granite face behind the falls.
The missus wandered nearby, collecting something from the base of a few trees and around some fern patches and putting it in her pocket. When Briana asked what she was picking, the woman responded with a merry wink. “Oh, just some wee mushrooms. ’Tis a special kind that grows near the falls. Pickle them with a few herbs and they’re a lovely addition to a meal. We’ll have some for supper, we will.”
Interested, Briana joined her and found a few herself, adding to the harvest. They stopped when Genevieve advised her to never pick all of anything, but to leave a few for the wee folk. She produced a couple of shiny red apples from her knapsack and they enjoyed the juicy fruit as the forest sang to them. Although Briana had a gazillion questions whirling in her head, she found it impossible to ask them. She wanted to enjoy this peaceful, refreshing moment as long as she could.
Jack said, “Milady, we must be going. I very much want to get you to our home before dark, so you can see our little community.”
Rising from her mossy seat, she signaled them ahead. “After you.”
They wandered over hills, down into shadowed, hidden valleys and around frog ponds full of orange lilies until they came to a steep part of the trail. Jack turned to her with a wink and a smile.
“Almost there,” he said, cheerfully. “We go up this way, across a wee bit of ridgeline, and then we shall be home. Ready?”
Mouse nodded. “Does your village have a name?”
Genevieve replied with a proud smile. “Baigsith. It means ‘Village of Harmony.’ It’s always been a peaceful place, and with your help and the king’s, we hope to have it remain so.”
Briana didn’t respond but let the tranquil name linger in her mind as they moved forward, hanging onto tree limbs and scrambling up steep rocks to the top of the ridge, where the path flattened out. From the spine of the hill she saw a valley of old oak forest below on one side, and on the other, a good part of the trail they’d travelled, including the head of the waterfall some distance away. She marveled again at how far these gnomes had walked each day. After another quarter of an hour, the trail ended in front of two huge boulders sitting side by side. On closer inspection, she saw that the path went between the slabs. Her eyes widened as she considered that she was a good bit bigger than the gnomes, and might not fit. As though reading her mind, Jack, already in front of the narrow opening, said to her, “Don’t think about it, milady. Just walk through. You’ll fit, I guarantee it!”
She started to argue, but a feeling of trust came over her and she did as instructed. Before she could even wonder if it had worked, she realized the rocks were behind her. “Huh.”
Jack and Genevieve smiled happily, as if to say, I told you so.
Finally, they reached a quaint hamlet, with plumes o
f chimney smoke rising from numerous small homes nestled serenely in the gently sloping hills of the valley. “Hobbit houses!”
Jack cocked his head at her comment. “What’s a hobbit?”
“They’re little… never mind,” she stopped herself, knowing the reference would be lost on them. Splashes of color dotted the glen from the brightly painted doors and shutters on the miniature thatched cottages, vibrant against whitewashed walls and golden straw roofs. Gardens overran every home and doorway, with bright red geraniums, petunias, sweet William, lobelia, fern, vinca and ivy spilling from the gay flower boxes. Blue morning glory, purple clematis and pink and orange honeysuckle grew up trellises beside the doorways. She noticed several varieties of plant life that were unfamiliar, though equally lovely. Old stone walls meandered through the town. Every so many feet there was a pot of something – pansies, begonia, petunias and assorted plants unknown to her, trailing down the sides of the container. Worn wooden gates provided a measure of privacy for each home, but were at the same time inviting, with welcome signs hung near posts or doors. A meandering stream bordered by ferns, trillium, primrose and hosta ran through the middle of Baigsith, just wide enough to require a bridge. Tiny cascades eddied and pooled along its length. In the middle of town grew a spreading chestnut tree, its limbs and leaves creating an umbrella that could, in all likelihood, shelter the whole village. Her hands itched to play in this botanical wonderland.
Surrounding the homes were patchwork plots of farmland and larger gardens, worked by a small army of gnomes. Deer meandered unconcerned between the postage-stamp parcels of land, as did ducks, chickens, sheep and other livestock. Small children scampered about everywhere, laughing in the midst of their games. The sound of their chatter and singing rose up, a happy hallelujah.
Genevieve clasped Briana’s hand. “What do you think of our wee village?”
“Oh, Mrs. Wells.” She smiled, utterly enchanted. “It’s darling. I can’t believe it.”
“Oh, ’tis real, milady, and we will do anything we must to keep it this way.” It seemed the threat of Lord Shamwa was never far away. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Briana was beginning to think she would also do anything possible to help them keep it this way.
Raucous, joyful voices spun her attention to the center of town, where gnomes were gathering in a large circle. There was an awful lot of cartwheels, backflips, hand-clasping and general merrymaking going on. The closer Briana and her companions got to the group, the quieter everyone became, until suddenly there was an expectant hush. Jack Wells drew himself to his full stature, as much as that was, and said, “It is with great joy that I present to the good citizens of Baigsith, the prophesied one, the Mouse, the hero of Uisneach, milady Briana!” Briana nearly jumped out of her skin at the cheer that went up from the people. A mass of jolly bodies pressed in, patting her and shaking her hand, giving her happy hugs whenever and however they could.
There was no denying the honor that came with their belief that she was here to liberate the king and their wonderful kingdom. With the honor, though, came a tremendous amount of uncertainty and a heavy responsibility. And truth be told, she was still not one hundred percent sure any of it was real.
Rolling with the celebration, she allowed herself to be guided to a building that was quite a lot larger than the others. In fact, it was exactly the size needed for someone her height.
“Not everyone in Uisneach is a gnome,” said Jack. “There are others who are tall as you, and some even taller. While different clans tend to stay together, sometimes folks come and stay for a time. So we have built a bigger house for their comfort. Though you’re always welcome in our cottages, it might be a tight squeeze for you. This is your home, whenever you’re here with us.”
Touched by his thoughtfulness, she smiled and thanked him as she opened the door to her new home.
Wood and stone welcomed her, along with the gloriously earthy incense of peat burning in a corner fireplace. Had she imagined a magical cottage for herself, it wouldn’t have come close to the charm of this home. Chairs cluttered the room, each with a gnome in residence; the space was large enough for half the town to gather. A natural wood-and-fiber couch graced one end and a long, sturdy oak dining table the other. A second fireplace, big enough for cooking, with some small built-in ovens, stood opposite the corner hearth, and a smaller table, presumably for food preparation, stood nearby. Windows on three walls offered breathtaking views of Baigsith, the forest behind the village and the mountains beyond. Above the cooking area was a sleeping loft accessed by a set of ornately carved stairs, which she ascended to discover an armoire, mirror and full-sized bed covered with a pile of handmade quilts. They had thought of everything to make her comfortable, including a private space and copper tub for bathing. She made her way back downstairs, eyes glittering with excitement.
“Do you like it, milady?” asked a gentleman who resembled Jack Wells.
“Very much,” she replied. “You’ve gone to a lot of work to make me feel welcome.”
“My name is John Wells, milady.” He bowed low. “I built this cottage.”
“And a master at building you most assuredly are.” She smiled and then cocked her head. “Are you related to Jack?”
A giggle rippled through the group. “Well, I supposed you could say we’re kin.”
“Oh? How are you related? Brother, father, uncle, what?”
“No, milady, nothing like that. We all have the last name of Wells here. Why, there’s Bubby Wells, Moira Wells, Caitlin Wells, Ralph Wells. Oh, for sure you’ll get to know everyone soon enough. No need to introduce everyone right this minute.”
She thought this communal last name very odd indeed, but declined to say so. After all, she thought, it isn’t the first oddity of the day!
Out of the throng emerged a plump woman followed by a gaggle of younger gnomes. The matron’s arms were loaded down with baskets of food, which she placed on the long dining table. The children quickly disseminated plates and cups all around. “You must be starved, poor girl. Come on, everyone, let’s sit down to eat while we hear the whole story of how Jack and Genevieve found the Mouse.”
The gnomes obeyed without delay and soon the table overflowed with food and drink. Briana thought there was nothing in the world like the aroma and taste of fresh hearth-baked bread, warm and slathered in butter, the ultimate comfort food. Add a tankard of strong ale… well, clearly, heaven did exist. Besides bread and beer, there were big bowls of boiled vegetables and platters of roasted meat and stewed apples, all smelling delicious and eliciting guttural appreciation. Apparently no storytelling would happen until bellies were filled. For some time, quiet chatter and “pass me the butter” were the only sounds of this gathering.
Briana ate with as much gusto as everyone else. It occurred to her she hadn’t paid much attention to her physical needs. They’d eaten on the trail, but she hadn’t wondered about where the food had come from, or what might be the usual cuisine for gnomes. Neither had she considered any future needs, such as clothing. Dressed for gardening, she had on a pair of old jeans, a tee shirt that ironically displayed the bold statement, “Proud to be a Tree Hugger,” and a ratty pair of sneakers that should’ve been thrown in the trash. Quite the savior, she thought. What will I do tomorrow, assuming I don’t just wake up in my own bed at home?
Ebenezer Wells, a portly gentleman by anyone’s standards, rose from his place at the head of the table and looked directly at Briana. Clearing his throat, he began to speak with great pomp and circumstance, his hands waving wildly about and chest puffing out further and further with every word. “All across the kingdom of Uisneach, good people have hoped for and anticipated the arrival of the prophesied Mouse who would release our beloved king from his captivity and save and unite the five blessed realms. The great prophecy has been given to us, and we believed wholeheartedly, since Lord Shamwa’s traitorous acts upon our beloved king, that the time was imminent for the prophecy to be fulfilled. W
e began our vigil several months ago, and made preparations to receive the liberator. That glorious day has arrived, and it is with heartfelt gratitude and humility that we welcome you, Milady Mouse. You honor us with your presence. We…” A gnome standing next to him coughed loudly. Ebenezer stopped, and with a flourishing bow, took his seat.
Jack Wells followed. She listened as the events of the day were told to the assemblage, which may have been the entire borough, if sheer numbers were any indication. She was astounded at just how many gnomes could fit inside the cottage. Some sat at the table while others found space elsewhere. Every so often a gnome would throw another peat brick on the fire, the smell and crackle keeping the room cozy. Hours passed, nighttime fell, and the Wellses reached the end of the narrative. As the story wound down, so did Briana; it wasn’t long before her yawns and drooping eyelids reminded the residents of Baigsith that their savior had endured a long and emotional day. Genevieve led her toward the loft stairs. Kindly good nights and blessings followed her as she was assisted upstairs.
A white linen nightgown lay atop her bed. It seemed the gnomes had thought of everything. Only half aware of how it happened, she soon found herself tucked into the cloud of her bed, so comfortable and peaceful that sleep took her before she had time to say, thank you.
Chapter Three
An Awfully Big Adventure
Katrina was trimming herbs in her garden, while she, a small child, played in her own miniature herb garden, learning the names of things – thyme, rosemary, lavender and sage. Mother was instructing her to pay attention because the knowledge of these little plants would be useful someday, but she just enjoyed their textures and scents and tastes. She liked to watch things grow.
Rising up out of the dream, Briana feared opening her eyes. Would she see the apple tree outside her bedroom window and her digital clock telling her it was 7:10 in the morning? Would the cozy warmth blanketing her be her own familiar comforter? Or would she awaken to a magical world in which all the people had the odd notion that she was their savior? She didn’t move, until a youthful voice spoke in her ear.
