The War of Odds (5 page)

Another time, Pollo snuck out of the house in order to give care and refreshment to a wounded elf, named Rondel. The tall, handsome elf was grievously injured and needed all the help the sprites could offer, but Sylvan’s people were warned not to interfere, or take sides in elven politics by offering asylum. Sylvan did not like it one bit, but he knew better than to get on the wrong side of Faryal, the current Elven queen.

Unbeknownst to Pollo, the wounded elf was being watched and monitored as he made his painful way to a high peak, known as Frost Beard. He was hoping to find the healer, Torri, who he hoped would cleanse and bless the sword cuts on his shoulders and back, sustained during one of the more recent, incessant battles waged between the elves for political control.

Pollo saw the elf and felt sorry for him. His pale skin was flushed with fever, and his huge purple eyes were hollow with pain and fatigue. Those eyes had landed on Pollo with the weight of an anvil, as Rondel stopped for a quick cup of water close to the sprite’s village.

Pollo followed the elf as he made his way north and watched as Rondel lay down by an old cedar tree to rest. One tear, as bright as a diamond, fell from his eye as he curled up in his cloak and fell asleep.

Pollo went against his father’s orders and ran back to the village as fast as he could. He snuck into his mother’s kitchen, grabbed some bread, cheese, honey and milk, put them all in a kerchief and ran back to where the elf slept. Creeping close, as quietly as a mouse, Pollo placed the bundle on the ground by the sleeping figure, then ran away to hide in a tall tree.

Pollo had no sooner got himself situated when he saw two other elves walk up to where Rondel lay. One of the elves, an older one with long gray hair, glanced up at where Pollo perched in the tree and then helped himself to the food. The other elf, a handsome blonde-haired male with malevolent eyes, administered the sleeping elf a hard kick to the ribs and screamed, “No help, traitor…none!”

The wounded elf sat up, wincing in pain, as the others faded back into the trees and out of sight. Rondel searched the forest for a moment and then spied Pollo, who was jumping from limb to limb trying to make his way down from the tree’s heights and back home.

“Thank you, little sprite,” he whispered to the retreating figure. “I will not forget your succor.”

A speedy return home, however, only meant a hastier punishment, as Pollo would soon discover. The two elves that followed Rondel had already returned to the sprite’s village and spoken to the king about his son’s clear violation of Elven laws. They sought retribution now, in the form of physical punishment. Although rewarding Pollo’s kindness with discipline went against Sylvan’s very essence, the elves demanded no less than ten stripes for the boy’s crime.

Sylvan tried to explain that corporal punishment in the form of a whipping might ruin Pollo’s new, budding wings but the elves were adamant. Knowing that a sprite had less influence than an ant in the fairy world hierarchy, Sylvan had no choice but to agree.

An hour after Pollo’s return, the villagers gathered, weeping as the king himself delivered ten blows to his youngest son’s back with a stout willow switch. That the young sprite did not cry out, or wail with pain spoke to his courage and dignity. He was a good son, and Sylvan’s heart twisted with grief and newfound resentment toward the elves who lounged by a nearby tree, laughing with scorn as the sprite writhed silently against the pain.

That was two years ago. Although Pollo was always cheerful, and usually obedient, his wings had never properly developed. He could fly in short bursts for a limited distance, but the magical filmy filaments that comprised all sprites’ wings were damaged beyond repair.

Sylvan had never forgiven himself and now his eyes sought those of his son’s, as they joined Hissaphat in the yard to talk about this new trouble. Masking his fear, the king lit his pipe and growled, “Well, let’s have it, then.”

Hissaphat and Pollo exchanged a glance, and then Pollo said, “Pa, I found us a good witch.”

Chapter 5

Sara was still sleeping when Nate stood up and said, “I need to go home. My mom is going to want the house picked up when she gets back.” Mike the dog slid off the couch he was sharing with Sara and yawned.

Chloe nodded and stared at Sara thoughtfully. She and Nate had spoken quietly after their new friend curled up on the couch and fell asleep. Nate showed Chloe his arm. The large cut was healing rapidly and large, fading bruises colored the boy’s arm, in shades of yellow and green, from elbow to wrist.

Chloe had to agree… it looked like a serious injury sustained days or weeks ago, rather than just three hours before. “Does it hurt?” Chloe stared into her friend’s bright blue eyes.

Nate nodded, “Yeah, a little. It itches, like when I broke my leg two years ago, skiing.”

They looked at Sara again. The pretty, blonde-haired girl slept with her hand between Mike’s ears. She was deathly pale and blue shadows stained the hollows of her eyes. She looked ill and Nate wondered if they should awaken her to see if she needed help.

He voiced his concerns to Chloe, but she shook her head. “Nah, I think she was just really tired, Nate. I’ll let her sleep and have my mom take a look at her when she gets home.” Chloe glanced at the Minnie the Mouse clock on the wall above her computer, adding, “That’s in an hour.”

Nate stood up and Mike the dog joined his master as Nate gathered his book bag and jacket to go home. “Okay, Chlo, I’ll see you tomorrow at school… if there IS school. Otherwise, call me if anything happens?”

Chloe followed him down the stairs and said, “Hey, do you work tonight? Maybe, if Sara is up for it, we can come down and say hi later.”

“Yeah, from 7:00 to 11:00, if the earthquake didn’t do any damage, that is…” Nate and Mike strode down the walkway and up the sidewalk toward home. Chloe stared after him for a moment. Nate was the nicest guy in the world, or so she thought, anyway. It just didn’t seem fair that he was saddled with the worst parents… ever.

Nate’s dad, Lenny, was a long-distance truck driver, who spent more time on the road than he did at home. Unfortunately, when he did come home, it was only to give his wife and son a beating, or an apology for spending his paycheck in the casinos of Las Vegas, which his route took him through every four days. Nate’s mom wasn’t much better. A waitress at the same truck stop she had first met her wayward husband, Nadine worked the morning shift and spent most of her tips in the bar after work, before heading home.

Nate was essentially on his own. He got himself off to school, made good grades, worked a dishwasher job at the at the Full Moon cafe four nights a week, and did all the house and yard work at home. More importantly, he did it all with a smile and a generosity of spirit that sometimes rendered Chloe speechless with sympathy and anger at the casual cruelty of Nate’s parents.

Chloe went back inside and grabbed two Cokes from the refrigerator before heading up to her room. She saw that Sara was awake and staring blearily at the TV as she entered. Smiling, she handed Sara one of the soft drinks, and said, “Hi, are you feeling better now?”

Sara grinned. “Yeah… a lot, actually. I’m sorry I conked out on you guys. I don’t know what came over me.” She took a drink from the can and looked around. “Where’s Nate?”

“He needed to head home but, you know, I was thinking that maybe, if your dad says it’s okay, we could head down to the Full Moon tonight?
 
It’s a restaurant where a lot of the kids go to hang out on school nights. I bet there will be a pretty big crowd there tonight, after what happened this morning,” Chloe grinned and added, “also, Nate works there.”

Sara blushed. “He seems really nice. Are you two…?”

“… An item?” Chloe finished Sara’s unspoken thought. “Nah, we’re just friends. We’ve been friends since the fourth grade and, although I think he’s pretty hot now that he’s getting past the geek stage, I don’t think either one of us are interested in anything more, you know?” She studied Sara’s face for a moment. “I think Nate might feel differently towards you, though, especially after what you did for him.”

Sara shook her head. “Really, I didn’t do anything! I think that there was just a lot of blood, and we both thought it was worse than what it was…” she stopped, staring at the floor in confusion as the memory of Nate’s arterial blood spurting out of the deadly gash in his arm surfaced
 
again in her mind.

Chloe watched her new friend’s face for a moment and then said, “Okay, fine. He’s all right now. That’s what matters, right?”

Nodding gratefully, Sara stood up and said, “Wow!” as the room swirled around her.

Chloe grabbed Sara’s arm and said, “Hey, are you dizzy? Sit down for a minute. I think my mom should have a look at you… she’ll be home in just a few minutes.”

For a moment, it sounded as if Chloe was a million miles away and then, with a rush, Sara was back and staring up at the tiny girl with wings who was gazing back down at her with concern.

“No… no,” Sara smiled. “I’m fine, really! Just stood up too fast, I think.”

She did feel good, suddenly, as if the nap she took had healed what ailed her. She was also happy and hopeful for the first time, in a long time. She had found a new friend it seemed, and maybe even a possible new boyfriend…

She grinned, gave Chloe a spontaneous hug and said, “I would love to meet up with you later. How do you want to do it?”

The two young women smiled at each other and made plans to meet later, at the Full Moon cafe.

*

Time moves differently in the fairy realm than it does for humans. Sometimes it whizzes ahead, like a firefly in the dusk, tripping merrily through dances and balls, revelries and dizzy excess, ever nimble, easily forgotten.

At other times, time condenses and trickles slowly, like honey from a tipped pot. War, disease, anger and grief could, and often did, paralyze elves and fairies, pixies and pooks, bogeys and bodachs, like flies in amber.

While Chloe and Sara planned their first night out together as friends, Sylvan, Pollo, Hissaphat and Muriel, the wood nymph, sat together within a ring of toadstools and talked about the dark magic that was beginning to permeate the land like a noxious, inky shadow.

Muriel was a witch and a healer. Although she was quite old, as nymphs go, she was still as green as a new leaf, and her cobweb hair caught the sunlight in glittering flashes of silver and gold. Her large, amber eyes stared out at the world with cool detachment, and her beautiful brown lips were, more often than not, turned down in a grimace of disgust or annoyance. It actually hurt Pollo’s eyes to look at her, so he kept his face averted in respect as Sylvan asked the nymph what should be done about the newly discovered human witch.

Muriel was not overly fond of human beings. They were nothing but trouble, in her opinion. She knew that, in most cases, her sisters were the ones who begun things they could not undo when they meddled with men. It still rankled though, when their more powerful brethren in the fairy high court hounded nymphs ruthlessly, when a human male was found wandering, witless and ill, in the fey realm after meeting up with a wood nymph.

Muriel understood her sister’s compulsion; human men were just so… so, delicious in their ignorance and blind bliss, much like fat, tiny babies were almost irresistible to a barren woman. Still, time and time again, Muriel was forced to watch her sisters punished by their own kind when a human strayed into the forest. Now, the sprite king was asking her to help another human, an untried girl witch no less, to help stave off the forces of darkness that threatened the fairy realm!

“Pollo and Hiss think she might be a healer, Muri,” Sylvan implored his cousin. “I know how you feel about human beings, but with what has happened and now the war…” he glanced at Pollo, who had burst into tears when he heard that Timeron declared war on humans. All sprites were sensitive, but Pollo was more tender than most. If Muriel agreed to help train the new witch, Sylvan needed his son to be strong and brave, not a nervous wreck.

Pollo was busy braiding a long rope out of dandelion stems, though, and seemed to be calm. The king of the sprites continued, “Muriel, we need you… all of us!” The birds, the beetles, the deer and the fox paused and listened as the king’s tinny voice grew strong and rang like a bell through the forest. The owls turned their heads and blinked in solemn agreement as Sylvan added, “You yourself have seen the dark ones rising up out of the underworld! They kill for no reason, and maim for the thrill of doing so. Cave trolls have been spotted in the higher mountains and Fideals… and, Hobyahs haunt the valleys!