The Misty World of Arial Hollyberry

I woke up this morning to a turmoil of activity. Arial and several of the emerald guard were fluttering about my face, pulling at my eyelashes and tugging my ears. Over by the French doors, still more of the emerald guard dashed back and forth obviously ecstatic about something outside.

I dragged myself out of bed and gently brushed the excited faeries out of my hair. “Arial, what’s this all about? I was sound asleep.” Pulling on my robe, I shuffled over to the windows and looked out.

Overnight, the world had been transformed into a mesmerizing study in white. Lacy flakes of snow as large as silver dollars chased each other in a downy race to the ground. Pine boughs hung low, straining to bear the burden Mother Nature was asking. The snow was so thick that the valley below me had been completely consumed by whiteness, and I could see no signs of it stopping any time soon.

I stood, transfixed, with Arial and the emerald guard on either side and marveled at the frozen fantasy playing out before my eyes. I had only been standing at the window for a minute when I realized snow wasn’t the only thing that drifted down.

I wiped my breath off the glass with my sleeve and peered out into the crystal fog.  Tiny faeries were riding snowflakes to the ground. It was difficult to determine where the lacy white flakes stopped and the delicate outline of the faerie wings began. When the faeries landed, they twirled off in all directions causing the snow to poof around in little circles

Arial whispered in my ear. “They have returned, the frost faeries have returned!” She giggled suddenly. “Come, we must go to the palace and pay our respects to the queen. Hurry, she will be waiting to hear about the happenings here.”

The emerald guard had started to tug at the sleeves of my robe. “Hey, wait a minute! I’m sure Orlaith will wait until I’m properly attired.” Arial shot through the mass of faerie wings and pulled out her wand. The guard immediately fell back and waited.

She waved her wand above her head and whispered in elvish: “To the palace we must go, through the cold and swirling snow, adorn the Kind One in beads and lace, so that she may take her place beside the queen of winter’s grace.” Sparkles rushed at me from the tip of Arial’s wand and quickly surrounded me in a flash of silver light.

I felt a press of cool air and my feet left the ground for a moment. My hair was magically swept up into a loose bun, held in place by glittering butterflies, and a diaphanous silver gown covered in shining crystal beads replaced my pink robe. A cape of ice blue faerie lace drifted down and landed lightly over my shoulders.

Arial tilted her head and nodded in approval. “I think that will do nicely, Queen Orlaith will be pleased.” I held out my arms and spun around in a circle. “Arial! You have out done yourself! I inspected myself in the floor mirror. “Exquisite,  but won’t I get cold?”

A tiny frown creased Arial’s forehead. “Really, do you have to ask? I would think that you would be used to faerie magic by now.” She snapped her fingers and the crystals on my gown began to pulse, first growing brighter, and then fading to a warm pinkish glow surrounding me head to toe in a magical wash of silken warmth.

The emerald guard was arrayed in their usual positions, four in front of me, four behind me, and two on either side. Arial took the lead position. She had transformed herself into her true and royal personage, Princess Arial, daughter of Queen Orlaith, queen of the frost faeries.

Since last winter, I have had Arial as a constant companion. We have had many adventures together and have become very close. I sometimes forget her linage, she just seems so normal. It sounds strange to hear myself use the word normal when talking about faeries! The only time she takes on her true identity is when we are about to have an audience with the queen.

Arial darted up to my face and pinched my cheek, then settled herself on my shoulder. “Kind One, please return to the present.” I shook myself and let my memories fall to the floor and bounce around, not unlike a pail full of rubber balls. One by one they bounced and disappeared in a quick poof of mist. “I… I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

The queen’s daughter smiled at me like someone smiles at a small child. She tucked a straying lock of hair up under her sparkling crown and repeated, “I was asking you if you were ready to journey once again to the palace of the winter faeries.”

I executed a low courtesy. “I am indeed your highness. Forgive my inattention.” The faerie guard giggled under their breath which drew a sharp and icy glare from Arial. She glided to face me full on. “No need for sarcasm, I just didn’t want to lose you somewhere in the darkwood. I need your full attention, as you well know.” Without waiting for me to reply she swirled her wand in a large arc and we all dissolved into the glimmering white light.

© Tami Ruesch, The Misty World of Arial Hollyberry, 2009.

Night was quickly closing in around me and the path leading down to the little town of Willowmeer was becoming harder to see. If it weren’t for the kindness of the monk I met on the road I would have been lost for sure. I rubbed my eyes and glanced quickly around me. The deepening shadows must have been playing tricks because it seemed as if he materialized out of thin air.

With a humble nod, he greeted me silently,  palms pressed together in front of the Celtic cross that hung  around his neck. His tunic and cowl were dark gray. He wore the hood up, covering his head and obscuring his face.

“Brother, thank goodness you’re here. I had to park on the side of the road a ways back.”  I turned to point back the way I had come and continued. “There was sign posted saying that Willowmeer was a kilometer down this path. I had no idea a kilometer was so far or I would have waited until morning to make the hike. Could you tell me how much farther it is to the town?”

This mysterious friar moved closer, sending a chill breeze before him. It looked more like he glided than walked, then he stopped suddenly, close enough that I could hear his rasping breath. He gestured down the path, indicating with his fingers that it was only a short distance around the curve. I found it curious that he he wouldn’t speak, then remembered that certain monks take a vow of silence.  That must be it. I felt a little embarrassed that it took me so long to understand and said, “Please excuse me for my ignorance Brother, I understand, you’ve taken a vow of silence.”

He smiled. It was a sad smile. I could see his face a little better since he moved closer and there were deep lines of sorrow etched around his hazel eyes. With his hands stuck inside the large cuffs of his robes, he bowed, then started up the path that I had just come down. I held up my hand to stop him and touched the sleeve of his tunic. When he turned, it felt like my hand passed through his arm and  a shiver ran down my spine. I shook off the chill that had come over me, telling myself that there was nothing to fear from this mild monk. “It’s getting very dark, will I be into town before I lose my light completely?” He nodded and reached into a pouch that swung from the rope tied around his waist. When his hand emerged, he was holding a small lantern with a white candle. He brought the lantern close to his mouth and blew on the candle. I am not joking when I say that every hair on my head stood out as I watched the candle burst into flame.

I stood, frozen, looking at the monk for what seemed to be a eternity, then hesitantly took a step forward to take the glowing beacon he offered. He nodded at me and smiled that same sad smile, then turned again to make his way up the path. When I looked up from the light, he was gone, it was like he turned to smoke and vanished into the murkey forest.

The sun was low on the top of the hills that surrounded the little valley and the deepening shadows seemed to slither through the pines like ghostly wraiths.  A grassy meadow sloped down from the path and opened into a wide stretch of farmland dotted with small houses that had thatched roofs. As the shadows grew longer, a mist reached up from the ground with thin curling fingers and crawled through the glen, swallowing barns and fields, creeping closer to where I stood. I was startled from my thoughts by the quick, sharp hooting of an owl.

Holding the lantern out in front of me, I hurried down the path and around the bend. Looking back I thought I saw the form of the monk , hood up, arms tucked inside the sleeves of his robes, wavering on the edge of the trees.

© Tami Ruesch, The Misty World of Arial Hollyberry, 2009.

” Arial, come and look.” I was working at the computer when an e-mail message came in from a good friend, Katherine Bourgeois. Kat and I met on a social site for business people and were immediately friends. I was told by Queen Litha that faerie people find each other, and I am finding out that  she was right, people from all over are writing to me about some faerie sighting or another.

“Remember Kat? She introduced us to Patricia Saxton.” Arial was all smile’s as she made herself comfortable on my shoulder. “Yes, I do remember, have you received new tidings from her? (Fairy’s tend to talk “old world”).

“I have, would you like to see?” Arial jumped up and swirled about in a fast, rather complicated series of aerial maneuvers. She stopped suddenly and drew a tiny silver flute from  her belt. It wasn’t long after the sweet, melodic notes had faded away that the room exploded into hundreds of fall faeries, all struggling to look at the monitor. I had faeries sitting on my head and slipping off both shoulders, one even tried to perch on the tip of my nose. “Um…excuse me!” I carefully removed the offending faerie by lifting her up by the wings and setting her down on the desk, where remarkably, there wasn’t one other faerie. “Thanks Arial, just what we needed, a faerie fan club.”

The room vibrated with excitement. Arial darted back and forth, “Hurry, hurry hurry!” A couple of  things I have noticed about my faerie friends, they don’t have much patience, and they love a good story (that’s probably why Arial is so insistent that I write things down). “All right, calm down! I’m opening it, look, here it comes. She sent pictures too!”

Kat wrote:

Tami, on a recent trip blueberry picking in a beautiful valley in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, my granddaughter Chloe and I discovered several beautiful faerie hideaways.  These lovely little spots also sparked a little faerie haiku.

Arial wrinkled her nose as she tip-toed around the keyboard. “What is “haiku?” She ask this as if it were something to avoid stepping in.

I had to laugh at the expression on her face. “Haiku is a form of non-rhyming, Zen-like poetry that originated in Japan. It has a formal structure limited to seventeen syllables, five in the first line, seven in the second line, and five in the third line. Would you like me to read them to you?” All the faeries clapped and cheered so I began:

Deep in the valley

I thought I saw a glimmer

Of faerie luster.

Twinkling by the stream

Sparkling, blinking, and shining

Faeries as flashlights

******

Faerie, tucked in for

The night, did you hide your light

Under the covers?

******

Silly Faerie, why

Do you think I cannot see

You blinking at me?

******

Do faeries smile and

Stop to talk a while and be

Friends like you and me?

******

Is there faerie time?

Or can their days be measured

In winks of an eye?

******

When faeries get mad

Do they blink slowly and point

A mean wing at you?

There was a soft collective sigh when I stopped reading. Fairy eyes are, for the most part, large and dewy, but now I noticed that there were more than a few misty eyes in the group. I smiled. “Judging by everyone’s response I take it that you like Kat’s Haiku?” The faeries were sitting in groups of two and three hugging each other and humming softly.

Arial came up close to my ear and whispered “We must send Kat a missive this instant thanking her for her charming words and her captivating still life!”

The fall faeries drifted off, one by one, still caught in the magic of Katherine’s words.

© Tami Ruesch, The Misty World of Arial Hollyberry, 2009.