The Faerie Ring Dance

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The Faerie Ring Dance Page 9

by Kara Skye Smith


  denied, I realized. Every sight, sound, and taste within

  the Fairy Ring woke me to my true nature - all the years

  of my youth, raised up in the human world, hiding about

  like a rat. I wasn’t sacrificing Honor, I was rescuing her.

  I couldn’t let go of Honor as my friend - my very

  best - and so, I charged on to bring my two worlds together, as one. I ran to find Blossom. I wasn’t jealous

  of her, I rationalized, I loved her! When once our lives

  were free - joined together as friends and equals I knew

  we would be without the sorrow of being singled out

  without isolation - but I was wrong. I’d be rushing into

  a world to which I’d just been invited with ideals and a

  plan too grandiose - a purpose too ancient for thegood

  times of Faerie Ring dances to cure. Nevertheless, I

  took off at a run, ignoring the twinge I’d just felt in my

  gut. What I did not know yet, was that I was being

  watched. As I hurried off, someone else hurried after me.

  The Faerie Ring Dance

  Chapter Nine * Old Soul’s Tree

  IIII didn’t now where to find Blossom - it seemed

  on days before she just appeared, after I’d been thinking

  of her for quite some time usually in the Meadow Glen

  or near my pond. This day, though, I didn’t have time

  to wait until she appeared - it often took days for her

  arrival. Instead, I ran straight for the Meadow Glen.

  The late afternoon sun had sent shadows of surrounding

  trees across the grass. Their shapes like tall tree people

  loomed dark, ominous. I stood inside their cool, shaded

  outlines and felt protected from the heat of the sun. I

  lingered, although Blossom obviously wasn’t anywhere in

  sight. I worried, too, that I might not find her before

  nightfall. After catching my breath, in the shade, I moved on to search at the pond. I thought of seeing

  her catching fireflies, and instantly I knew where to go

  the hollow’s Six-shaped Tree and to the ring of grass,

  more green, beneath the Yew tree. Just as I began to

  worry if I’d find her in time, I had the inking I was

  being watched. Then I heard a splash and a scream like

  no other.

  The “R-raaaarr!,“ scream of a cat. I ran toward

  the sound. It was the McGillicutty housecat, Peter. He

  had been following me since the house - all this way.

  “Stalker!” I yelled. The cat hissed and spit.

  “Here!” I yelled and tossed the vine. I lassoed his

  big, old tail and pulled him, heaved him, yanked him

  several inches to where his paws could touch the bottom

  of the pond.

  “I’ve saved your life,” I said, “Now you owe me

  and you must help me in return.”

  The cat threw himself upon the shore with a

  “Mm-mm!” sound and bowed his big head low toward his paws. He licked himself, reclaiming his pride and

  then he shook.

  “Ah!” I yelled, “You could have told me you

  were going to do that!” Pond water had now soaked me

  too.

  “What do you want?” the cat finally asked me.

  “Peace. Friends? No violence and a ride - to the

  hollow - quickly.”

  “All of those things?” he asked.

  “I could have asked a lot more. You were

  drowning in there!”

  “I suppose, um, I guess I could,” then he

  launched into several excuses. “Never learned to swim.

  Cats don’t like water, ya know? It’s very cold in there.”

  “What were you doing so close to a pond, then?”

  I asked him.

  “I followed you. Stalked you, really. Then, I

  saw a fish jump. I love fish. He was in the shallow end,

  at first, but then, he moved and I just fell, I guess. You ever catch any of those fish?”

  “All the time,” I lied.

  “Then I’ll make you a new deal. You catch me

  some of those fish, and bring them to me at the house,

  and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, today.”

  “But today’s almost over,” I haggled and bartered

  my way to a free ride pass whenever an emergency arose.

  With that agreement behind us, I fashioned a harness

  and climbed onto his back. Fast as he could he took me

  to the Fairy Ring beneath the Yew. At a speed which

  was exhilarating at first, but then became a series of

  annoying breaks and fast walks as he was a bit out of

  shape - lazy since the McGillicutty’s had moved in, I’d

  assumed, plus the widened girth due to all the sheep’s

  milk.

  “Ho boy!” he sputtered, holding himself and

  catching his breath. “This the place?”

  “Uh huh,” I said, suddenly growing bashful at

  the thought of barging into the ring without an invite and without Blossom by my side. And, what was I to

  do about Peter? Leave him? I couldn’t just walk into

  the world of the Queen of the Fairies’ with an enormous

  cat, whom I may have bribed into doing a

  few good deeds so far, but hadn’t yet determined if he

  could be trusted entirely. Like I’d mentioned, my dear

  mum once told me that some housecats could be friends,

  but others were downright killers. This one test of his

  loyalty seemed less than an obvious reason to trusthim so

  soon.

  “I’ll just be a moment,” I told him.

  “Where you going?” he asked.

  “In there,” I pointed to the ring of grass that

  grew more green beneath the Yew.

  “Ha!” the cat laughed, “whatever for?”

  “You’ll see,” I said, “I need some directions. The

  cat watched as I stepped into the ring, swishing his tail,

  curious - like a cat always is - and inquisitive as a cat

  who had met a wee folk with the ability to charm a cat and speak to him as well.

  One step inside and the view before my eyes

  completely changed. There were many faeries bustling

  about an entire world of enchantment opened up in front

  of me, once again. I had to find someone who knew

  Blossom, I thought, but for a moment, I was so caught

  up in what I saw that I simply stood gawking in wonder

  at the sights and sounds of the fairy world aroundme.

  “Wow!” I whispered as probably every visitor

  had, throughout time, just this many steps from the

  mortal world outside the ring. For a moment, I

  completely lost my way. A faerie dressed in fuschia

  blossoms saw me watching, my mouth open in awe.

  Petals dropped from the sky like snow fall, creating a

  kind of beauty and hush in the air. Bells and the faint

  sound of a song drifted through the air. Strange and

  wonderful fronds spiraled up toward the sky, dotted

  with dew drops that shimmered like lampposts along the

  avenues. Lush trees, ferns, and wild flowers grew inside the area which was much larger than the ring appeared

  from outside, in the realm of the humans.

  There were homes and shops and, of course, the

  area for dancing and the Castle of the Queen. From the

  trees, hung fanciful cages for fireflies which

  lit the way at night.

  “Kneel, kneel!” the fuschia petal adorned
faerie

  girl whispered, pressing her palms down through theair.

  “Like this,” she said, “and don’t look up.” I

  followed her lead and listened as the faint music grew

  louder and then tiny hooves and the innumerable feet of

  fairies in a parade came into view of my down-cast eyes.

  O, the shoes that went by me were fanciful, indeed,

  which made me smile. I wanted to look up. I wanted,

  at least, to turn to the faerie next to me.

  “Don’t look up!” she whispered, again; so, I

  didn’t. There were knee-high booties of feathers from

  the underbellies of doves, pumps made from snapdragons,

  and shoes like the elves wore made from birch leaves and spun gold. Tiny ponies made noises and snorts from

  their nostrils and bells tinkled and jangled - as I could

  not look up I only imagined

  each time their heads tossed as their finely brushed tails

  drug the ground.

  “What is this?” I whispered.

  “The procession,” the faerie girl said.

  “Of the Queen?” I asked.

  She shushed me at first, but then very softly, as

  she must have felt bad, whispered, “The King.”

  Coattails that must have been spun from

  silkworms touched the ground. It was killing me not to

  look up, but I didn’t. At last, as gold wheels of a

  carriage rolled by, I saw the thin fingers of a pale, dainty

  hand reach out from above to just under my nose. I

  looked up. Every faerie around me was standing as I

  knelt.

  “Here,” she said. I took her hand. She helped

  me up. I inquisitively turned to look toward the sounds of bells and music fading in the distance. I saw the tail

  end of the procession were two fairy children atop a

  sled pulled by four tiny, white wolves and the expansive

  wings of a butterfly girl in a feather dress tossing petals

  from a basket, first to the left side and then to the right.

  “That was something,” I said.

  “He’s the King,” she replied, “so I suppose it

  could not be anything less, now could it?” she asked.

  “I suppose not,” I said and that sounded logical.

  “Do you know where I can find Blossom?” I asked. She

  laughed.

  “That’s a rather common name for a faerie around

  these woods.” I explained she had brought me to the last

  full moon’s dance, so she knew right away whom I was

  talking about.

  “Ellewyon tribe,” she said.

  “The Old Soul’s Tree is her home. Huge family!”

  she said, “so, huge tree.” I nodded. Again, a logical

  statement. I liked it here, and I almost burst with emotion telling her so; but, I had to find Blossom - to

  help me with Honor - before nightfall. I excused myself,

  gushing praise, once more of her fanciful home, to which

  she only smiled a close lipped kind of smirk and waved

  with her fingers, and then she was gone. I jumped out

  of the magical ring as Blossom had taught me.

  “Ellewyon,” I said out loud, looking around for

  the cat.

  Then I shouted, “To the tree called Old Soul’s

  Tree!” and I jumped onto his back, grabbing the harness

  I’d made to hold onto in hopes that I wouldn’t fall off.

  Blossom’s father of Ellewyon tribe wore a

  delphinium coat with moss knickers, slippers of birch

  bark, and an ivy leaf cap. His vest was a single red

  woodpecker’s wing feather, split up the middle and

  fastened together at the back of his neck. In his pocket,

  a tiniest watch made of gold tinkled rather than ticked,

  and he smoked what smelled like dried berries and sage

  in a pipe of whittled willow wood. “Come in,” he said so quickly after I’d knocked

  upon a blue door at the base of the Old Soul’s tree, that

  I jumped slightly but regained my composure at the sight

  of his calm, dark brown eyes and slight smile.

  He puffed once upon his pipe, and then said

  again, “Come in! Come in! Only a friend of the faeries

  can see our door - it’s a wee bit magic in that way, it is.

  So, sit, sit, sit;here, have a seat. What brings you to our

  door?”

  Inside the Old Soul’s tree was an intricate series

  of stairs and ladders which led up to different colored

  doorways and homes. An entire village of windows that

  must have peeked out of rooms were stacked one upon

  the other and then branched out into avenue along the

  wide, hollow limbs of the tree, on up until I almost

  couldn’t see the sight of them anymore - disappearing

  into the shadows and distance of the tree.

  Faeries peeked out of nearby windows as I sat

  down in the welcoming hollow openness, a short climb up from the door, as if it were a piazza or London-like

  square, where all stairways and subsequent connecting

  avenues branched off from these same stairways in the

  tree, and I guessed some had peeked to see whom had

  arrived. I suddenly wished I were more impressive of a

  guest as I meekly inquired of the fanciful dressed man

  about Blossom’s whereabouts; and, if I could speak to

  her, asking her help and a moment of her time. He

  mentioned, by my accent and my stature I was not from

  this woods. He asked me about my home and my family.

  “I’m an Irish pixie gnome,” I said, “grew up more

  years in England, though,” in the home of the ladies who

  now lived in the hollow which I did not tell were

  humans - didn’t think to - but told him were the nature

  of my visit that brought me to ask this favor of Blossom.

  It was here, that I remembered the twinge, I had felt,

  and yet I still did not change my plans nor my mind.

  As I walked around that magnificent tree and its

  intricate world, tightly run by this warm hearted - and I felt it - Old Soul - like the fuschia faerie had said, ‘huge

  family, huge tree’ - I realized although the better idea

  would have been to immerse myself into this world and

  that of the Faerie Ring without my attachment to

  humans, I was bringing Honor along because I considered

  her my family. When I didn’t like what Blithe had to

  offer us any longer, I wanted to bring a bit of themagic

  the faerie world had to offer to help Honor find her

  freedom - like I’d, hopefully, found mine. However

  better left behind that thought would have been, it was

  there, and I went with it according to plan. The inkling

  that this could be my family, rather than a human family

  had begun to set in, though, too.

  I walked with the father of Ellewyon up the

  stairs and through the avenues looking for Blossom,

  marveling at the sights and sounds, and being introduced

  to several others of the Old Soul’s tree. Past a house full

  of bakers, an irresistible smell filled the air, so we sat and

  shared a bite of the freshly baked goods. Faeries in white coats mixed, rolled, and baked delicious

  confections and imaginative cakes. Another house held a

  room full of instrument players. House after house had

  things going on which involved feeding the family,

&n
bsp; carrying a song, filling the houses and rooms with such

  happy goodness and brightly inspired faeries that by the

  time we got up to the house where Blossom knelt,

  fastening a rose petal to a dress form - covered by an

  exquisitely, feathery faerie dress - I wanted to take her

  into my arms and just hug her; but, her father stepped

  between us, and I controlled myself - although I was

  feeling entirely happy, and at home. In a home, not

  alone, and for the first time without humans - with the

  faeries!

  Blossom and her many, many sisters fashioned

  dresses together in a house filled with all sorts of petals

  and flowers, odds and ends, this’s and that’s, and

  whatevers held in boxes along tall shelves. Only called

  sisters they were, as Ellewyon faeries are formed and not born, Blossom had told me, when a ray of morning

  sunlight is caught inside a drop of dew on a butterflies

  wing as it brushes past a flower growing wild or tended

  in a well-loved garden causing a bit of its magical dust

  for flight to touch down.

  Blossom was so shocked to see me, the pin she

  was holding stuck in her thumb.

  “O!” she cried, and then she stood up sucking on

  the pin prick.

  “Hewwo!” she said with her thumb still in her

  mouth.

  “Hello, Blossom!” the patron of Ellewyon

  boomed, loudly, “a visitor to our humble home.” He

  stepped aside and there I saw her silhouetted by the light

  of many twinkling orbs lit by glow worms in clear, round

  containers, a slight smile peeking out past her thumb, and

  right then I wished with all my heart for Blossom and me

  to be alone together so we could talk.

  “Narn?” she asked smiling, removing her thumb from her mouth, “What are you doing here? How did

  you get here? How did you know where I lived?”

  “Now, Blossom,” her father intruded to soothe an

  awkward pause, “any bird in the meadow could have

  told him.”

  “I suppose so,” she said, “but father, I don’t think

  Narn talks to birds.”

  “O?” he asked, looking at me. I shook my head,

  no. “Well, you must teach him, some day.”

  “Father,” Blossom protested.

  “No?” he asked. She shook her head as I had.

  “These young faeries,” he said. “Dinner then,”

  he said, “Come, come, come! Everyone - all of you

 

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