|
MIDWINTER MAGIC: TEN
Even as Arista spoke, a small winged thing suddenly flew out of one of the plants Jera was inspecting, as though to attack her elf friend. Although he was too small as to be really threatening, he didn't seem to know it. Arista gasped only to be frozen at the sound of a small, but clear voice chastizing Jera for her seeming meddling. "Here! Here, now! Don't be touchin' those! I only just did 'em!" Jera drew back from the small flying thing and blinked. Eventually, she spoke to him. It seemed appropriate, since he certainly spoke to her. "I do offer my apologies, small one, but... there seems to be something amiss with these inkberries." "Amiss? I'd say so! Those were mighty dark and near dyin', I 'spect. Not now though!" He flitted around proudly in his dark green wings and oddly fuzzy little red body. On closer inspection, it was almost a garment of sorts and showed off his long golden hair, as well as what could only be said to be a very handsome, though very small... face. "I fixed 'em right up, I did. All ready now, they are!" Arista stepped closer, watching the little winged creature now hovering at Jera's eye level. "Umm... Is that YOU, Wallace? You turned the inkberries red? And the mistletoe? And the monkshood?" Their small company weaved to the side and faced the shorter of the two long people. "Wallace? um... Yes, of course! I..." He tapped his chin with a wee red-gloved finger. How is it that name's familiar? Then he turned his attention to the other inquiries. "What are ye speakin' of? They're all to be red... MY color... All of 'em" "Oh, Wallace, nay, not all to be red." Arista tried to reason with him. "Monkshood should be yellow, and mistletoe, white... and inkberry, dark blue..." Jera was taking the opportunity of this conversation to regard the winged fellow and wonder at who and what he really was. "Yes, she speaks truth... Wallace... For it is each that bears its own---" Wallace cut off the elven woman's words. He puffed up his chest and hovered in the air then crossed his arms in a huff. "Tis not! Red! All berries are t' be RED, I say!" And his own face was a bit reddened by his insistence. Arista then frowned, puzzling this out in her head. "And you're supposed to be a moth or a butterfly..." The wee fellow wrinkled up his little nose and zoomed in to hover in Arista's face. He even shook his little red-gloved finger at her. "Yer wrong there too, lass! I'm th' Holly King! So don't ya be touchin' my work and don't be accusin' me of none of that other business!" Glancing to Jera for hints and then back to Wallace, Arista realized that whatever Wallace was, he was certainly full of spunk and spirit. She stepped back, although why she should do so in the face of a creature so tiny, she'd puzzle out later. Again brilliant green eyes blinked. "Ye cannae be the Holly King... yer nae big enough." Wallace blinked now and spun about trying to look at himself, a wiggle and blur of red suit and glossy green wings. At last he stopped and arched a brow at Arista. "Beg yer pardon? I'm just the right size!" With that, he glanced around then zoomed over to a branch heavily laden with a cluster of mistletoe. In a rather erratic pip and pop, here and there, he touched each of the white berries and they begin to take on a deep rich red color. One seemed slow to change and so, Wallace reared back and... spit on it. It too became a bright shining red. Jera covered a snicker at this last bit. "Odd though he is, he's quite humorous in his haughtiness." Arista gasped then began to giggle. "Sprite spit? That's what turns the berries red?" She could not hold the torrent long and soon was giggling right out loud. Eventually, Jera set her laughter loose as well. "Yes, so it appears. This little one has an interesting gift." Wallace harrumphed at the laughing long people. He hovered near Arista again with his arms crossed. "And yer a fine one t' talk of size t' me. Yer a bit stunted looks like." Of course, his only comparison was the tall elven woman. "Stunted?" Arista blinked. "ME? I'm tall for my age." She then shook her head and muttered to herself, "Can't believe I'm arguing with a fairy." "HA!" Wallace protested. "No plain fairy, not moth nor butterfly!" He said the last two with much disdain in his wee voice. "I AM the HOLLY King and... I've business to attend!" With that, he zipped away through the foliage and disappeared, although if they listened carefully, they could still hear an occasional, albeit small, spray of spit. "Um... Sprite, I think. But Holly King, I think not." Jera tapped her chin thoughtfully. Arista looked up to her, "He cannae be the Holly King, the one who brings in the Yule? Certainly not. The job is bigger than he is, and I not only mean his physical size....but..." Jera nodded and leaned to whisper to Arista. "I think we've some research to do and I know not what to do with the sprite but let him be until we find out what goes on here. Something in this plays like lore long forgotten or little known. Perhaps a trip to the library is in order?" Nodding back, Arista also kept her voice low. "We've got to keep him in here...and Mama out. How do you suggest we do that?" "I can only hope that if we find what he does, that perhaps we can undo it? In the meantime, did you not say your mother was on patrol? How much time does that allow us?" "Until dark probably... and with any luck, she'll nae need to come in here tonight." "Good and good. Then let us go to the library for a search. I think Wallace will keep himself busy here." Jera had to grin, even though she understood that Lady Skye might not if she saw what had been done. Arista led them back toward the workroom and picked up her cloak. She moved to pick up Jera's and stopped to run her hand over the fabric. "This is elven made." she said quietly, expressing her awe at what was obviously better crafted than even other garments she may have seen of elven make. She looked at Jera questioningly, her hands smoothing over the cloak that so closely resembled her mother's. Jera smiled, "Indeed, and not by my hand. Tis a gift from your uncle on our journey. It's the fine work of your... of your grandmother, Rowan." She was aware that Rowan was not Arista's bloodkin, but, as the daughter of Skye and thus the daughter of Ian Blackthorn, close enough to be said in that way. "I am to understand that Blackthorn gave similar to the Lady Skye?" "Aye, Mama treasures it." Arista's voice dropped softly, even as her hands caressed the fabric lovingly, then she handed the cloak to Jera. "I wish I could have met her. Rowan, I mean." Taking the cloak, Jera ran her hand over it too, still quite touched by the gift itself and of course the giver. "As do I, as do I. Ashe misses her. I know from how he speaks of her that she was quite special... but now gracing the Summer Lands." Arista put on her own cloak. "Da blames himself. I don't even think Uncle Ashe blames him, but Da won't let go." Jera let her cloak unfold from her hands then swirled it over her shoulders as she nodded. "As I understand the tale, and only a bit mind you, I can see where Ian Blackthorn might think such, but really, everything unfolds as it must." She looked around once more and did not catch sight of Wallace, although she did catch the sound of his wings fluttering amongst the leaves. "I think we'd best get to our research 'ere the small one has the whole place painted." From an unseen location, a tiny voice called out enthusiastically "I'm a'workin' on it!" which was followed by the splattering of a berry, once yellow, now changing to red. Moving to the door, Arista pushed it open and indicated that Jera should exit quickly. "That's what Mama says. If not for things in his early life, Da wouldn't have ended up here, with her, with us... and perhaps everything would have been worse." "Yes, yes, that could be so." Jera left the workroom in haste and paused outside the door to wait for Arista who then closed the door, fastened the lock and said a quick prayer hoping her mother wouldn't need the workroom anytime soon. With a relieved breath and a grin, she whispered to Jera. "Well, Wallace is MUCH more exciting than a moth, isn't he?" Jera chuckled, "Aye, he is at that. And now your magic is showing... enjoyment of what is." She gently stroked the girl's hair. Arista smiled, a pleased flush on her cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes nearly as green as Wallace's wings. She gave Jera a quick hug and then took her hand, letting youthful exuberance drag her taller friend toward Camelot's vast library. Jera disappeared again, with Arista, into the library where they begin a search which might gradually lead them to some answers. END TEN © 2002 DP & SO along with all other participants ~ This and other stories may be found at Willow's End |