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Fairy Dust
Part 10
“Jason’s different. He knew what I was. He only asked my name and my behaviour.” Inca had regained the glimmer in her eyes and was trying to Elmade that not all humans question the fantasies. He was yet to be convinced and had been blown apart by the revelation that Jaysin and Carül were in fact, humans from Wilsade brought to Fledentia by two fairies to defend a pixie. Elmade had felt betrayed at first, being the only one kept out of the secret, but then he realised that Thage had even lied to King Bolkin, out of faith in these humans. A tickling worry of uncertainty flitted through his body, additionally a stream of excited possibility: the prospect of free roaming between worlds; the dream of a shared life bonded by simple love, respect and camaraderie was too enticing to deny thought of and Elmade had always trusted Thage. It was disappointing to be frank, that the town Hero was not as pure as what they had believed but Elmade began to see his reasoning, understand his motivations for doing what he had done. Elmade reinstalled his faith in Thage with this and then concluded that if Thage believed a life outside of Fledentia to be better for his dear, Inca, then he surely, should not have a problem with her choice. It was then, at that exact moment that Elmade made up his mind to defend Inca against The Council and motivate that her return to Wilsade, be her sentence. Fledentia’s most important priority was to remain a fort of disturbing sanctity, but surely, no wall was insurmountable, no ocean uncrossable and thus, no fantasia inescapable… Elmade sat and thought to himself: why not let her banishment be served in Wilsade, where she can have an entirely separate life? Why not allow her some form of satisfaction in her own life, unlike that which he was getting. Sure, he would miss her, he knew that instinctively, but some sacrifices had to be made and she had shown no want regarding his company, and his love had already overpowered his courage so it was impossible to breach the topic with her too easily either. He had fallen in love with Inca, undoubtedly, in the three light times in which they had been able to converse properly. There were only three days left before Inca went to trial but they tried to avoid the gloom and exchanged embarrassments, lessons, achievements and dreams. Inca began to enjoy Elmade’s company wholeheartedly but was somehow blind to his attempts at winning over her little pixie heart. Being told she was to die had changed Inca’s outlook, she noticed none of the little hints that Elmade dropped, appreciated little of the effort he put into her food, just to make it look nice for her. Inca had very little idea about a lot that was going on in Fledentia.
“An elf and a pixie,” shuddered Elmade to himself in the comfort of his warmly lit cave dug out of the huge mountain besides the prison doors;
“How in Harbel did I manage to find a pixie to fall in love with?”
“And a guilty criminal of a pixie too!” he mocks his own stupidity in query.
Elmade sat questioning his sanity till late into the darkness, with not even the stars to keep his conversation going, only a chilly breeze to remind him of his lonesome part in the world he inhabits.
Mofeu was sick of Thage’s moping:
“What’s the matter Thage? You’ve been moody and distracted since we’ve been home.”
Thage turned to her, bored of her complaints;
“I am still trying to find a way that Inca need not die.”
“She’s no longer our concern.” Said Mofeu irritated.
“But she’s so alive, so courageous…”
“I admire her.” Thage added quietly
“You admire the CRIMINAL? For what?”
Mofeu was in a fury now
“For endangering Fledentia?” she squealed
“For possibly ruining our lives, and the lives of the ones to which we have pledged ourselves? She disregarded our basic foundation of secrecy!” spat Mofeu at Thage,
“And you admire her?”
Thage waited patiently for her to finish her tantrum and only when she was heaving for breath did he answer her outburst:
“Consider it my dear Mofeu, she was brave enough to defy the Lake Fairies, smart enough to get away and then cautious enough in Wilsade to not get caught by a non-believer and still mature enough to find herself a use in Jason’s life in exchange for his silence”
His eyes were unfocused and trained on nothing. He had his vague face on play, noticed Mofeu, who had the deepest respect for Thage because of his instinctual wisdom but she could not agree with him on this topic and instead, kept her mouth firmly shut but her thinking had changed already.
‘Maybe I should rethink my opinions.’
Mofeu mused now querying her decisions that differed so much from the fairy that she has never questioned. Thage was still not quite present and was also trying to solidify a loophole or some obscure solution for this strange scenario that makes less sense the more it is studied. He was inexplicably drawn to Inca; her fiery determination, contradicting the mellow coolness of her satisfied ambition; her bravery during the arrest – most folk break down and repent or else start running and get as far as possible – the superiority she had implied by her very aura, her personal and individual colour rays, as she faced those goblins, had glowed with gloom. He felt that it was unfair to keep Inca in Fledentia after telling her of Wilsade: she was too inquisitive and undeniably stubborn, refusing to believe others’ tales but rather indulged in her own Discoverer and sought out more exposure, more experience, more knowledge and a broadened perspective with which to perceive more efficiently. He smiles at the thought of Inca and the FIGHT she had possessed on that first day of interaction. She had been shaking, terrified of what the fairies were going to do her but rattling with rumoured rage readily rumbling, brewing just beneath the surface, just below this fear. He had sensed her strength then already but her courage was only awakened by her own fear and resolve. He stretched from the toadstool and fluttered to his learning leaf – a soft, and overpowered by moss, log where he sits to find his own solace and to direct his focus to within the performance of survival so that he can view it entirely on the wasted tree’s shell.
“Everything has a function. Even after completing a task, another must be right up ahead. And when the tasks assigned to you do not challenge your full potential… you can seek and request preferable relocations…”
A smug smile crawled across the face of the Loyal Servant, Thage, about to become a far-fetched rebel and a reasonable justice enforcer.
Jason paced the length of the shelter that Carol and himself had been allocated. She was still tucked into the feathery blankets on the lily pad so soft. She could not gather the strength needed to swing her feet to the floor and commit to this day. It was the day that they had rushed and slowed repeatedly, craving the freedom of the trial past but desperate to source a link to potential victory. The day is bright, the flowers attack with vigour – the sense of smell and the unwilling sight. Carol, the attempted optimist looks at the day, thinking ‘Perhaps the day is perfect to save a pixie.’ She smiles, ‘Perhaps today is perfect to banish a problem pixie.’ Her heart thumps. ‘Perhaps I need to stop looking for signs.’ She breathes slowly, her eyes shut, her thoughts wafting out of her visionary sight. The two humans encased in myth left the home together, each with their own lumps in their throats to attend the first appearance of Inca in public since her return to Fledentia, and her subsequent arrest. The entire village was headed to the trial. Carol looked at the expressions worn around her: daring excitement; dreading fairness illustrations and pleading pity were the most common looks. She was absolutely shaken when she realised how many sorrowful and dejected faces were really around her as well. It seemed as though Jason’s sensational statement had niggled more conscious consciences than what he’d thought. Carol tugged at his arm but he was oblivious to everything but the nearing crowd seated on grass patches, shaped into seats, surrounding an open patch. There were seventeen seats arranged on one side, two larger bejeweled thrones in the centre and an enclosed seat to the left of these. The clearing was surrounded by thick bushes, along the prosecution ridge and other trees to secret the justification of dismemberment. Jason marched directly to the nearest seat placed close to the accused-box, which resembled livestock stables in his mind, restricted and demoralizing, and watched as the figures already there swiftly lifted themselves and moved shamefully and submissively to the less blood-lusted rows near the entrance. Carol followed suit, as did Tulip and Glopper, a goblin friend of Jason’s and the four sat like statues awaiting the commencement of the nightmare they could not fight, could not even defend against, as the buzz rose and fell at intervals of randominity.
The whizzing sadism quickly faded to nothing as, from the bushes, the jury arrives. Both Carol and Jason study this panel of myths who will determine Dear Inca’s future torment. The seventeen jurors include: three fairies (two male miseries and a female fairness); two toads from the lake; two butterflies massively too fragile for their steely gazes which give no clues to their thoughts; four short and stocky dirt clods, goblins of indistinguishable sex, boasting frowns and sneers all but one who appears more pensive, thoughtful and open-minded regarding the charge; a pair of crickets sing their presence next – the melody woeful and damning – and behind them the single pixie alliance, a wizened and crooked old man looking grumpy and annoyed, bumped around by the trio of mischievous elves looking as though they had no idea to the reasoning of their attendance. The jurors settle their various forms and shaped into their allocated cushion and a hush drops over the viewers once more as they await the arrival of the other empty positions. A miniscule motion from the bush panics Jason as he watches a very bedraggled Inca, shackled with thorned-ivy and oozing remorseful regret, being escorted to her pen, allowed entry and then the heavy gate was securely fastened – caging her and giving the community the opportunity to judge her dirty self; her red-rimmed and begging eyes looking haunted and her tattered spirit being all that remains of the once strong and stubborn pixie. Clivia sobs loudly and Tulip gets the impression that Clivia will be receiving more sympathy than what Inca really does need for her own wellbeing. Carol looks at Inca closely too, saddened by the gauntness of her pretty little face and despaired by the acceptance of death that she sees ploughed into Inca’s beaten esteem. Carol wished she weren’t seated there as the tears rolled from her wells and plopped from both her nose and chin onto her writhing fingers which were held on her lap. A streak of yellow, purple and teal, swooshed by, revealing the royal cape of King Bolkin as he waddled his awkward goblin-body importantly to the largest of the two unoccupied thrones in the centre of the stage. A bright white light shines from the bushy barrier and the most beautifully entrancing fairy that Jason had ever sighted, floated regally to the seat beside the king. ‘So that’s Queen Lady-Pepha.’ Jason mentally comments as he is still gripped In the web of her wonderment, exactly as every other male ego in the audience was. An elf dressed entirely in teal disasters announced, very loudly, to the awaiting servants, of the arrival of Feldentia’s King Bolkin and Queen Lady-Pepha. Jason is commanded to sit and follows the order a few moments later in order to fully focus his attention on the trial about to begin.