Chapter 5 – The Fairy House

While they were talking, the sky had turned pink with the new dawn and the stars had faded. The tree-man took Arsac to the edge of the meadow where a curious looking house stood at the boundary of the trees and grass. The house was made of strips of bark with twigs placed over the entrance to make a door. A path of flat stones led from a small garden to the house. The scene was both inviting and lonely, like finding a boarded up home when you are lost and need shelter from the coming night.

The tree-man stopped and looked at Arsac, “This is an old, nearly forgotten entrance to the fairy’s house. They have grown accustomed to using the pool and haven’t thought about this doorway for many years. Fairies are thoughtless and easily forget things, you’ll see.” As he walked away across the meadow he said, “Don’t worry, things will go well for you, fairies are lazy and sleep during the day. Retrieve your things carefully and be careful not to wake them.”

Arsac knelt before the entrance and began to pull the sticks away so that he could get through. He could tell the entrance had been unused for a long time, all types of insect had made their home in the bark and twigs. He felt nervous as he worked, “What will happen to me if the fairies wake up and find me in their home? They’ve already taken my things, what else might they do to me?” He stood up with his heart beating hard in his ears. Maybe he should give up and return home while he still could. “What would my parents say if I ran home having lost my things and without finding my true-name?” He knew his parents and Ison would be disappointed in him if he quit now and returned without finishing what he’d set out to do. He knelt down and peered into the doorway, it was just large enough for him to fit through if he crouched. The house was dark inside and he could feel cold drafts that smelt of earth and rotting wood. Mastering his fear, Arsac pushed his way through the entrance and entered the dark room.

He crouched for a few minutes, breathing rapidly, waiting for magic to envelop him or enchant him in a strange way. After a while his eyes adjusted to the dark and he realized he was safe for the moment. Looking around he saw a small table and a couple of chairs covered with dust, dirt and fallen bark from the ceiling. There were three doors on the far wall, one of which was open and revealed stairs that sank deeper into the darkness. Arsac was much larger than a fairy and he nearly filled the small room, so he moved carefully in a crouch to the doors. The two closed doors were locked tight and would not budge in their frames so he entered the open door and began to climb down the stairs. Each step was very small so he had to be careful not to slip and fall. Using the dirt walls and ceiling to keep his balance he moved slowly downwards. As he crept down he noticed the air growing cooler and moister. Arsac wasn’t in complete darkness, the way was lit by small glowing bulbs growing from the dirt walls. He was cramped and uncomfortable and didn’t know how much further the stairs would lead, so the dim light gave him some comfort.

Eventually he came to a plain room at the bottom of the stairs. It had a stone floor and smelled of damp earth. Arsac felt that the weight of all the dirt above was pressing down upon him, it was hard to breath and his heart was pounding hard. He could feel the touch of magic about him, like spider webs brushing against his face. His skin tingled and the top of his head began to crawl and itch. At the end of the room was an ornate metal door with intricate, curling decorations carved both into the door and into the stone frame it sat in. The doorknob was shaped like a small head with a grinning face. In the dim light Arsac couldn’t tell if the smile was kind or hostile. Trembling slightly, Arsac put his hand on the doorknob and began to turn it. To his surprise it was warm to the touch and turned easily. The door opened smoothly and flooded the small room with a radiant light that blinded his eyes, they had grown so accustomed to the dark.

Squinting and shading his eyes, Arsac tried to make out what lay before him. After a moment he could see a large room, taller than it was wide, and perfectly round. The ceiling appeared to be made of water, as if he was looking up at the surface of a pond. The space between him and the water was filled with spiraling lights that cast a flickering happy glow on everything below. They pulsed and chased each other, changed colors, and created patterns in the air. Below the lights, tumbled on the soft ground, were the fairies. They were piled in a heap, sleeping and snoring little snores. Their wings were like transparent butterfly wings, shining with reflected color and etched through with dark leaf-like veins. Each fairy’s wings opened and closed with its tiny breaths, keeping time to the snores.

Arsac held his breath, he didn’t know how soundly the fairies slept. He looked past the pile of sleeping fairies and saw his things against the wall. His stick lay upon his pouch and crumpled cloak. He would have to walk carefully and silently around the fairies to the far end of the room in order to get what they had stolen from him.