The Boy with No Fairy
a chapter of The Force of Courage.
The boy in the treehouse woke suddenly.
He didn't make a noise or startle, not the way he used to. He simply opened his eyes and knew he would be unable to fall back asleep. Sleep was well fled in the wake of this latest nightmare.
The treehouse was very dark. The only light that could be seen shone iridescent and colorless from the haze of the forest, beyond the window above him and outside the curtain that served as his door.
As was his custom when roused by dreams, he got up to find some other way to pass the night. He stepped outside into the warm night air, and leaned against the rail of his narrow porch. There were other treehouses dotted around the glen, a little village seated comfortably on the only patch of earth for quite a distance. From these other houses, through gaps in thatch or curtain, emanated dim colored light. Each color was different – yellow, orange, purple, various shades of green or blue – and only the boy's house was dark.
No, there was another. Not far from his own house, but closer to the center of the glade, the small house dug into its tree's gnarled roots. Usually at this time of night, vibrant green could be seen through a crack near the roof, but now the house was nothing more than a black shape in the faint grayness.
The boy smiled.
He knew where its occupant had gone.
Immediately, he turned and took the dagger from under his pillow – a treasured belonging, carved into its handle was the image of a wolf, whose tail served as the glinting metal blade. He wasn't sure where the dagger had come from, but it had been his as long as he could remember. And he never went into the woods without it.
The ageless planks of his front ladder were smooth against his bare feet, noiselessly he stepped down them, and darted up the path that led to the nearest edge of the glade. The faint light grew closer as he approached the forest. He found a thicket of blacksage reaching greedily over the path in one place, which he had to step lightly over, but the rest was free of stone or root. Perfect for running even in the dark.
Then he came to the edge. A literal edge, for instead of merely being the threshold between clearing and forest, this edge was where the island of ground stopped and the haze and the trees began. They were immense trees, and unimaginably old. They not only towered beyond sight above, but they also extended beyond sight below. The boy had never seen their roots, and as far as he knew, they didn't have any. This was the forest that suspended and surrounded the rock – puny in comparison – that was his home village. It was his surrogate sky and horizon. A poor surrogate, he thought.
It was possible to walk on the trees. Rarely was it even needed to climb on them – for, although in the village, a discarded pebble would fall straight toward the ground, it was not so in the forest. A pebble dropped would fall towards the nearest tree, even if that meant falling up. The boy had learned to walk on the trees and let them serve as ground, no matter how they spiraled and spun. All the while, down would simply be toward the limb or trunk on which he tread, and up would be away from it. Such acrobatics were dizzying, as if the confused shapes of the trees weren't already enough, so few of the villagers dared enter the forest. Few, but not none. And the boy wasn't the only one.
There was another danger to the forest. Everywhere throughout it, hung a haze. It was muffling, and obscuring, sometimes dim and sometimes bright, sometimes hot and sometimes cold. Whenever he traveled through those woods, the haze was always around him. It did not permeate the village, but it was impossible to ignore from there either. Every direction, at the edge of sight. Blank.
That, though it made the maze more difficult, was not made the haze dangerous. For a pebble thrown within the village would fly a clear course and land or strike somewhere on the ground elsewhere. A pebble thrown within the maze could disappear into the mist, and never land anywhere. Once or twice, a pebble that had vanished from one place could be found elsewhere in the woods, far away. But it never seemed to happen the same way twice. The boy never dared jump into the haze – but he knew one who had.
Presently, he still stood at the edge of the village glade, at the place where one snakelike branch jutted against the rock. A bridge leading onward into the woods. He steeled himself, then alighted onto the branch and began along the familiar series of twists and turns that led to tonight's destination.
The village, still scarcely more than a dark shape, quickly fell out of sight as he walked what might have been called up one tree, and then turned along what might have been called along the underside of another. Down was toward the tree, and up was toward his head – he had to remind himself of this occasionally, to avoid getting vertigo.
He knew this route well enough that he could walk it in the dark – the textures of the bark on his feet could tell him where he was, just as easily as his eyes – but nevertheless, a faint green-gray light let him see the silhouettes of things immediately around him.
Suddenly, he halted. A noise came echoing from a direction he couldn't place. A familiar, and dreaded noise. Yet another danger of the forest.
Scrub-scrub-scrub-scrub it came, and every way he reeled his head, the boy felt like it was behind him. His dagger was at the ready, but the noisemaker never showed itself.
Scrub-scrub-scrub-scrub, then suddenly it stopped, paused a moment, and continued again, gradually fading away into silence.
The boy waited a long time before he moved again.
By the time the boy reached the place he had set out for, the light was now very pale gray. No longer was it shining from the mist itself but from something beyond it; things in the distance cast shadows through it, instead of being completely masked.
The branch led him to a landing near the bottom of a stone – not quite as large as the one the village was perched on, but still very large. It was truly a landing; a platform carved out of the stone, at the bottom of a staircase, which the boy now climbed.
The stone was capped with soft-soil loving grass and wildflowers, It was otherwise unadorned. A girl lay on her side in the grass, with her head propped on her arm. It was difficult to see her, as she was clad in green, and her hair was the color of fir needles. Her back was turned to the boy as he mounted the last stair, she was occupied with the view in front of her.
The backdrop of every other place was the tangle of the forest. Here, in front of them, was a patch of earth, larger than both the rock they were now on and the village glen. Ruined walls and towers, all overgrown with ivy and moss stood surrounded by a lush green meadow on that island. And though it pulled at their curiosity, neither the boy nor the girl, nor anyone who explored the woods, knew a path that could take them to it.
Beyond the island, though, as far as could be seen, even on the brightest and clearest of days, was nothing. If it was the sky, the boy couldn't be sure, as it was the same color as the haze. But it wasn't filled with trees, and he smiled in anticipation, for one other thing could be seen here, and he was just in time for it.
The girl stood, and pulled an ocarina flute from a satchel at her hip. She pressed it to her lips and a piercing melody, simple and beautiful, called out. The boy had heard the same song many times. It could be happy or sad, and seemed to be filled with anticipation, excitement, and warning. It was the song that greeted a new day.
As she played, a sliver of bright light appeared far in the distance. It widened until it took the shape of a ball, the bottom a reflection of the top. Then the haze closed around it and it could be seen no more.
A vibrant green glint darted by the boy's face. This was not part of the daybreak, and, startled, he made a small involuntary noise.
The light flitted around then hovered on gossamer wings near the girl's face. She turned to the boy and smiled.
"Hello Link," she said. "I'm glad you could make it."
