#backyard fantasy

A she-elf, who must be Dian, opened the door. Her silver hair rippled as if in a wind, and a few lines were lovingly carved into her fine features. Though under average height for an elf, she was easily two heads taller than Ella. Her true age showed in her eyes; almost black, but with a glittering wisdom the years had polished. Her mantle was simple, but well-made.

“Hello, Ella!” she said, spreading her arms. Her hug looked feather-soft. She turned her head as they parted. “This must be Meline,” she nodded as Meline bowed, “and…” she must’ve caught the flicker of movement as Selva zipped behind Meline. She crouched down. “… you must be Selva.”

Selva peeked from behind Meline’s cloak. “Go on.” Meline set a gentle hand on the back of Selva’s head. She took a step forward.

“‘lo.” She dipped into what was probably a curtsy, but her voluminous cloak made it look like her knees buckled for an instant.

Dian smiled, and inclined her head. “Hello, my dear.” She looked up at Ella. “Valdr is getting a few things ready. Won’t you come inside?”

“Thank you,” Ella said. She stood aside, letting Meline follow behind Dian. Meline felt Selva’s hand slip from hers as she switched to Ella.

“You can leave your things here,” Dian said, indicating the bronze hooks fixed to the wall. Meline was warm by the time she had her cloak and mantle off, as well as her leg-warmers and boots.

“Your scarf, Selva?” Meline, about to follow Dian down the passage, turned about. Ella had a hand on Selva’s two, which were affixed to her scarf like glue. Selva shook her head, burying it deeper in the thick fabric. “I thought you said it was scratchy.” Selva just buried her face deeper.

Meline stepped forward, and touched Ella’s shoulder. She knelt down. “Selva?” An eye peeked out. “You can take your scarf off when you’re ready. Just give it to me when you do, alright?” A small nod.

“But—” Meline gave Ella a slight shake of her head, and squeezed her shoulder. Ella sighed, gave a half-exasperated smile, and brushed Selva’s hair before she stood. Selva took her hand again.

“In case Valdr forgets,” Dian said as she led them down a wide corridor, “I’d like to thank you for the herbs. His heart is doing much better now.”

Meline shook her head. “My pleasure. He’s a friend of Ella’s, after all.”

Dian’s eyebrow flicked up. “So how long has it been?”

“We’ve been together sixteen years.” Meline felt herself glow.

“Ah, young love,” Dian led them down a fork to the left. “Valdr and I met some fifty thousand years ago.”

It put things in perspective when a love lasted longer than you would probably live. “Were people even people yet?”

They came to a doorway covered by a sheet of embroidered deep-black. Dian put one hand to her chin as she held the curtain aside. “I… don’t know. We were still in Fey then. By the time we crossed over, people were very much people.” She gestured for them to enter. “I’ll be back shortly with a bite to eat. Valdr should be here momentarily, I know he heard the doorbell.” And she left them alone.

Three lanterns hung over a low wooden table, reddening the walls, and bookshelves. A fire crackled in the hearth on the opposite wall. The pale embroidery of the rug flickered against the velvet it was stitched into.

Selva hardly glanced at the books. She walked to the table and sat on the side closest to the fire, trying to make herself as small as possible. Meline, after a brief look at the bookshelves, sat beside her. Now they were here, Meline was less certain this was a good idea.

A faint smile on her face, Ella came and sat on Selva’s opposite side. “Did you know,” she said, leaning forward, “that using words of power is like removing the cloth to see the table underneath?”

Selva looked back and forth between the two of them, looking as baffled as Meline felt. “What?”

“The difference is when I name a thing,” Ella spoke a word of power, and the ring on her right index finger untwisted itself, forming a fairy key, “I can choose its shape.”

“What are you getting at, dear?” Meline said, absently running a hand through Selva’s hair.

Ella unspoke the word, and the key became a ring again. “Much of the time, saying you’re scared gives shape to the thing you’re scared of. However frightening that shape might be, a shapeless fear is worse. Name your fear, look it in the face, and you can conquer it.”

Meline quirked an eyebrow. “Also,” she stopped stroking, though her hand stayed on Selva’s shoulder, “if you can name a fear, you can talk about it with someone, and they can help you conquer it.”

Selva looked back and forth between them. She hunkered down lower. Meline shared a look with Ella that meant “maybe that was too much.”

Selva cleared her throat. “I’m—”

There was a scratch at the curtain. “Hello? May I come in?”

Meline almost laughed; Valdr—it could only be him—sounded exactly the way he had in her head.

“Of course,” Ella said, tapping the table with a knuckle. “This is your hall, Valdr.”

“Thought I’d ask,” Valdr ducked through the doorway. He was tall even for an elf, dressed in a bliaut of deep blue silk. His nose hooked, his ears curled out almost like horns, and his dark brow shaded a pair of luminous eyes. If Dian’s were old, Valdr’s had seen the stars before the first moonrise.

Ella rose and gave him a gentle hug; the top of her head hardly reached his waist. “How are you?”

He returned the hug; if a hug showed one’s soul, Meline doubted she’d ever met anyone so kindly.

“I’m well,” he said, looking over at the table. “And do I see two new friends you’ve brought me?”

Ella smiled; Meline had rarely seen her so relaxed. “Come,” she wound her arm about his, “let me introduce you.” Meline rose as Ella brought Valdr in her direction. “This is my Meline.” She’d definitely never been this relaxed. “She formerly lived in Wild Rose.”

“Oh, yes,” Valdr said. Meline bowed. “you needn’t,” he said. Instead he took Meline’s left hand in both of his. “I’m glad we finally meet, Meline.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“As am I,” Meline said. “Um,” she grasped for words, “it’s been a while since I walked on a cloud.”

Valdr nodded. “The air is thinner up here, but cleaner.” He removed one hand from Meline’s and held it to his chest. “It’s better for my lungs.” He gestured for her to lean closer. “Ella has hardly written of anything but you for sixteen years. I don’t need the wind to tell me you’re someone special.”

It took Meline several seconds to realize her jaw had dropped; the only reason she realized it then was because Ella leaned over and pushed it back up. Meline gave her a gentle swat.

Valdr sat, and Meline and Ella resumed their seats. He leaned forward. “And this must be Selva.”

Selva squeaked, poking her head up over the edge of the table. “’Lo.” Meline almost didn’t hear her.

“Hello. That’s a lovely dress,” Valdr said. “The red sleeves and the cream go well together.” Another, slightly higher-pitched squeak. Valdr leaned back, speaking to the whole table. “Dian should be in shortly. Shall we start after?”

“Yes, I think,” Ella said after she looked for Meline’s nod. “Are you hungry, Selva?” Her stomach gurgled before she could reply; the “mm-hmm” that followed was barely audible. Meline bit her tongue.

Shortly thereafter Valdr rose as if summoned. Hardly a moment later, he and Dian each came in carrying plates of fruit, bread, and sweets. Valdr had an earthenware teapot in one hand, with several mismatched cups.

They set the platters on the table, and handed each of them an empty plate. “Help yourselves,” Valdr said, after a quick offering of the midnight meal.

“Which cup, Selva?” Ella asked.

Selva hemmed and hawed. “The bumblebee cup.”

“Ooh, good choice,” Valdr said, selecting the preferred cup. “Do you like honey in your tea?”

“Yeah.” Selva carefully took both plate and cup, and set them on the table with hardly a sound.

But for the chewing and sipping, and the fire’s crackling, it was quiet. It seemed to Meline there were both a thick worry in the air, and yet also a calm. As she ate and drank, they seemed almost to fight, but… it was the most un-violent battle Meline had ever witnessed. Anxiety crackled, a static on the edge of Meline’s awareness. The serenity did not attack, yet the former retreated, curling and locking in on itself, a drafty rock in an ocean of peace.

Unaware that she had closed them, Meline opened her eyes. Selva looked more relaxed than she had all night. Her eye flicked to Valdr. He looked to be quietly enjoying his dinner, his eyes closed. One cracked open to meet her gaze. Meline quirked an eyebrow. He nodded.

They finished, and Dian cleared the plates away, leaving the tea. She touched Valdr on the head before she left. He clasped her hand for a moment before she left the room.

He sighed. “Much better.” He stretched. “A full belly quiets the soul.”

“I suspect everything here quiets the soul,” Ella said.

Valdr set down his cup. “Selva,” he said, “I would like to start with something simple. Could you take a deeeep breath and hold it for a moment?”

Ella gave her a nod. Selva took a breath so big her cheeks puffed out.

Valdr whispered. The lanterns dimmed. The shadows about the edge of the room… didn’t grow, so much as come forward. They collected about Selva, thickest about her chest and throat, and just above her right eye.

Valdr peered at her, then reached across the table, and set thumb and index finger over her eye. Meline stared as he pulled away, and the shadow came free. He held it in his

hands, and spoke a word of power. The shadow contorted like a broken twig, quivered, and… relaxed? Valdr raised his hand and blew until it was gone.

“You can breathe out now,” he said, and Selva released her breath in a whoosh. Meline looked. Her eyes widened. She could see the shadows still clinging to Selva.

“How is—”

“Valdr is a dark elf, Meline,” Ella said. “Shadows are to him what metal and earth are to you and me.” A light blinked on in Ella’s head. “It’s too bad your deep-black hasn’t cured yet.”

Valdr turned his gaze to Meline. “You work with deep-black?”

Meline rubbed her neck. “I usually make clothing out of it. Most wouldn’t expect shadows to be so warm.”

“No, indeed,” Valdr said. The enthusiasm in his voice—and hands—was transparent. “Shadows and darkness… they are so important to life, can be so enriching, and yet we fey, who live in the night, more often think of spiders and monsters when we think of darkness.”

“There’s scary things in the dark.” Meline turned to Selva. It was the first contrary thing she’d heard the child say.

“There can be,” Valdr admitted. “There can also be quiet, and peace. For people, darkness means rest, to regain their strength and heal themselves. Darkness can serve a similar use for us.”

“How?” Selva’s tone sounded like she was trying to hide her curiosity.

“Before I explain,” Valdr said, “I would like you to use a word of power to conjure a small flame.”

Selva looked at the floor, blushing to her roots. “I can’t.”

“Oh?” Valdr hmmed. “You don’t have to tell me why. But I just removed a shadow clinging to a blockage in your magic. So, you might be able to, now.” He leaned forward. “We could try a little exercise, if you like.”

How Valdr knew Ella used that exact phrase when she gave Selva a new word to practice—which without exception produced giggles of anticipation—Meline didn’t know. But Selva changed from—poorly—pretended indifference to honest curiosity. She nodded.

“Take another deep breath, though,” he smiled, “it doesn’t have to be down to your toes.” Selva did so. “Now, cup your hands and hold them out from your face like this.” He held his own out like he was cupping water. Selva imitated him. “Now, when you breathe out, think firmly to yourself, ‘I will not burn’. Breathe out now.”

Selva did so. Nothing happened. She looked at Valdr.

“Again.”

Still nothing.

“This time,” Valdr said, “when you breathe out, say ‘fire’, while firmly holding the words ‘I will not burn’ in your mind.” He nodded for her to proceed.

Selva inhaled, and as she opened her mouth, Meline felt the world change; Selva had spoken. Bright in the still-dim room, flame licked at her lips, pouring gently out, so soft they were hardly visible.

The air began to ripple, the flames growing and snaking. Red at first, then orange and gold and even white.

They collected in Selva’s hands like a bouquet.

“Don’t seek for control,” Valdr gently said, “just let them flow.”

Selva twitched. A shadow Meline hadn’t noticed fell from her. The flame ran like a river into her hands, dazzling and… warm. Not hot, as they had been at first.

“Open your eyes, Selva.” The kindness in those words could have melted Meline’s heart. She looked at Selva as she opened her eyes. Tears streamed down the girl’s cheeks. There was such wonder… Meline’s vision suddenly blurred.

“Now, like setting down your spoon when you’ve finished a delicious soup,” Valdr said, “let them go.”

Selva closed her mouth, and the fire gradually died… wilted would be a better word, but as the bouquet in her hands deepened to red, it opened like the most beautiful flower. And then it was gone.

“That was very good,” Valdr said, a joyful grin on his face.

“That was amazing!” Meline said, unable to keep quiet any longer. Selva, tears still running, looked in her direction, and then looked over to Ella.

She’d covered her mouth with both hands through the entire exercise. As she lowered them, she gave a rambunctious sniffle. “I am so… so very proud of you.”

“Hello, Tadpole.”

“Hello.”

Meline greeted each of the tadpoles. She saw, in the way their little tails flipped, and their eyes blinked, that something troubled them.

“Have the water fairies been treating you well?”

“Yes, the algae and water plants are delicious.”

“Then why are you sad?”

The tadpoles blew bubbles, and the water stirred as their tails wriggled. “We wanna be frogs. But we don’t know how.”

Meline tilted her head. “Where is your dad? He could tell you.”

The water exploded as tadpoles jumped. “He’s gone!”

Meline waved her hand, and a wall of sand kept the water from striking her. “Where did he go?”

“We don’t know!”

“Did you ask the water fairies?”

“They just said he left, and now we have no dad!”

Meline put her head in her hand. Some fairies, honestly! And what kind of frog left his tadpoles all alone?

Meline heaved a sigh. “Okay, little tadpoles. I don’t know how to turn you into frogs, but—” she waited until the tadpoles finished crying, “— I will find someone who does. Be brave in your pond, and I will be back soon.”

Meline collected herself. She walked down the beach and found a stone that jutted out into the water. She walked out to its tip, knelt at the water’s edge, cupped her hands so they just touched the surface of the pond, and spoke the word that called a water fairy.

The water boiled, and a tall, thin fairy with frosty hair and a nose which could turn no higher appeared.

“You summoned me… Oh, Meline.”

Meline took a deep breath. “Is Evelyn there, Vedris? I was hoping she could help me with something.”

“Indeed?” His eyebrow quirked, a rare show of feeling. “Perhaps I could be of some assistance?”

Meline’s smile grew sweeter than a strawberry. “Could you sit three hundred tadpoles for me until I get back? Their—”

“Fetching Evelyn!” He was gone. Meline almost rolled her eyes.

“My dear husband is many things,” Evelyn said as she rose from the water, “but he is terrified of children.”

Meline tilted her head. “He raised five.”

“Other children. Ever since he almost put out little Cedric’s eye with his sabre, he’s stark terrified he’ll hurt them. Anyway, what’s this about tadpoles?”

“Their father ran out on them,” Meline said. Evelyn looked as appalled as she felt. “I’m off to see Old Toad; perhaps he knows how to help.”

“Hmm, yes,” Evelyn straightened her spectacles. “He loves children not at all.”

“I’ll be sure to get him a fly,” Meline said. “And you’ll—”

“watch the tadpoles.” Evelyn smiled. “We both will. Though Vedris will likely watch from a distance.” She dipped partway back into the water, the hem of her dress merging with the surface. “Oh, could you wait just a moment? I’ve a wild strawberry tart you’ll love if you haven’t eaten yet.”

“Oh, thank you!” Meline bowed.

Meline munched the tart as she walked. Old Toad’s den was on the far side of the pond, on the edge of the poplars. Meline couldn’t imagine living in view of the fence, with its iron wire and barbs. She was glad her door faced away from it. The moss was soft under foot here, though the spring damp was long past. Meline tapped with her staff, making sure the moss wasn’t hiding any sinkholes.

Old Toad’s bower was large but simple, strands of slough grass woven together. It kept the worst of the rain off; toads, after all, like the damp, not the wet.

Meline spoke a word of power, and felt her voice carry through the ground. “Theo, are you here?”

A rumbling croak sounded from the bower. A squat shape rose up, and Old Toad trundled to his door. “I’m afraid you’ve come at a bad time, Meline,” he said. “I’ve a most unsightly wart.”

“Have you?” Which one? she thought. “Would you like a salve for it?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble. I am dismayed whenever I look in the puddle.”

“I’m afraid it will have to wait, though.” She lowered her voice. “Could I have your advice?”

Theo blinked as only a toad can. “Ask and I will answer, if I can.”

“How does a tadpole become a frog?”

Theo raised himself up. “That is a secret of toads and frogs, Meline!”

Meline raised her hands. “I thought it might be. I ask for the tadpoles at the west end of the pond.”

“Their father can tell them, surely?”

Meline sighed. “He left them.”

“Ah.” Theo cleared his throat. “Shameful behaviour, indeed.” He stood aside. “You’d best come in, then.”

A few fireflies lit the bower. The kitchen was simple, but well-kept, with a passage down to what Meline suspected was Theo’s bedroom. The sitting room in the back, the walls packed with shelves, the shelves with curiosities and books covered in wax.

Theo pulled a volume off the shelf nearest his desk. “‘Old Frogger’s Almanac’, first edition.” He sat at his desk, pulling out a toadstool for Meline, and set a pair of spectacles on his broad nose. “Can I interest you in some cider?”

“Please.” He pulled out a bottle and tumbler. It was spiced differently than Meline was used to. But then, Theo did like to tinker.

“Fortunately, Frogger knew his way around an index,” he said, opening the volume, “and a table of contents. Now if I recall…” He chirped, and one of the fireflies flew closer. He tossed it a sweetmeat from a jar on his desk. “Hmm… ‘Fiddling with Cricket Legs’, no… ‘Fishing for Mosquito Larvae’ … how he was even allowed to publish that article in the first place I’ve no idea… ‘Growing a Green Moss Carpet’… Ah! Here we are.”

Meline slid her stool closer. Theo turned the book to her. She furrowed her brow.

“This is a fairy potion.” She read. It had been a while since she’d looked at the Old Frog script. “‘The Frog Legs Soup’.”

“How did… how did Frogger get a hold of a Fey potion recipe?”

Meline shook her head. “Fairy, not Fey. It certainly isn’t against the law for a frog to know this recipe, but lots of us still hold our secrets… well, secret. Any—Titania’s Mirror!”

“What!” Theo jumped so high he almost hit his own roof.

“This is decidedly not a Fey potion, I’d bet my name on it!”

“Careful, child,” Theo said, wringing his hands. “I know better than most the value of a fairy name.”

Meline took a breath. “Theophrastus, no Fey potion has ever had iron powder in it. It is absolutely against the Fey Queen’s Law. A fairy potion is another matter. Iron’s dangerous, but on this side, a few fairies have experimented with it. We don’t advertise the fact, though.”

Theo nodded. “Do you know where to get iron powder?”

Meline chuckled, taking a blank sheet from the desk and copying the recipe. “I wouldn’t ask any fairy besides me, Theo. Might as well ask if we’re either suicidal or murderous. Anyway, no. Only a metal fairy can handle iron with bare skin.” She stopped, absorbing the tone of Theo’s question. “Do you know someone?”

He nodded. “I’ve heard of a metal fairy by the house. Ella of Oakhill?” Meline shrugged. “She’s some lord over that way. My cousin didn’t say much about her, when she was over, just that she’s a bit odd. Even among fairies,” he said, as Meline opened her mouth to offer a retort.

Meline turned in a circle, then shook her head. “No, not ringing any bells.” She looked up at Theo’s clock. “I’d best get going, then, if I’m to make it there before sunrise.”

“You’re going now?”