Chapter 5
Chapter Five
“Oh dear, oh dear, I seem to have frightened the poor thing,” I can hear a gravelly voice say as I come back into consciousness. I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to acknowledge that there are actual talking boulders, like the ones from my vision a few days ago, standing in front of me.
Was that only two days ago? It feels as though time has warped on this journey as I think back to the painting I made with the very same creature in it that is standing before me now.
“Quick, Sister Buttercup, go and fetch us some yarrow and plantain. She has sustained a deep wound that we must attend to!” The one called Granny Mog instructs as I crack open an eye to see who she is addressing.
A taller, thinner rock creature with light green, curling old man’s beard lichen for hair nods and scurries off into the meadow.
“Ah, she’s awake. Welcome back, Nuria!” A boulder even bigger than Granny Mog reaches out a stone hand to help me up.
“Who… what are you?” I stammer as I tentatively reach out to feel its scratchy, cold, hard hand grasp onto mine and pull me upright.
“It is I, Brother Willow, do you not recall? We were gnome childlings together. I guess I am a tad larger now eh?” Willow chuckles back.
The name rings a bell but with no clear memories.
Despite the thought that he could crush me with one squeeze if he wanted to, I feel at ease hearing his deep voice.
“I’m sorry I don’t remember… gnomes?!” I question, shaking my head.
“Oh dear, she has forgotten all about us,” a plump, rosy cheeked gnome squeaks.
“Dear child, you were born here, right in this glen,” another gnome with a scraggly moss beard and an Amanita mushroom as a hat butts in.
“We raised you as one of our own but one day you wandered off and we could not find you anywhere. Brother Spruce ventured far, much farther than us boulder gnomes would ever dare to go and he found signs of humans,” a tall, thin gnome that looks much like Sister Buttercup adds next, and I feel my head is swimming as it snaps from gnome to gnome.
“We thought perhaps they had taken you and there was nothing we could do,” Granny Mog laments as she takes hold of my hand and gives it a tender pat.
I sit with this information for a moment while Sister Juniper returns with the plants Granny Mog had asked for.
Granny pops them into her mouth, chews them up, spits them back into her hands, creating a paste, then she reaches out to put it on my arm.
I flinch away but she gives me a glare that makes me feel like a child being scolded and some subconscious part of my brain tells me to submit.
Yarrow and plantain she said… I’ve read about these somewhere. I recall that yarrow was used on battlefields to staunch bleeding. The kind of information you tuck away, never expecting to have to use it. My curiosity trumps my squeamishness, so I watch her apply the paste to my ripped up arm.
“If I was born here… then where is my mother buried?” I question cautiously, wincing as she smooths the paste over my ripped up arm. I realize maybe I do not want to know, maybe they are the ones who killed her.
“We did nothing of the sort! boulder gnomes do not harm. We create and maintain!” Granny snaps at me as she grasps my hand tighter and starts to pull me along with her.
The ease at which I transferred that thought to her surprises me.
There must be some way to moderate this, or am I just doomed with having my inner dialogue on display?
“Come child, I will show you,” she says as I try to keep up with her startling speed, considering she has very small, stubby legs. The other gnomes roll into tight balls and start rolling along after us and Durga keeps up pace easily with her long, elegant, now blood stained, legs.
We pass through a copse of rustling birch trees, hop over a babbling creek and walk past a glistening lake that has swans lazily floating on top of it.
I realize how much warmer it is up here.
What a strange microclimate, I marvel at my surroundings as we follow a larger creek that branches off the lake.
A small patch of beautiful white flowers catches my notice.
An intoxicating jasmine scent is coming off of them.
I wish we could stop and examine them for just a brief moment but before I can make the request I am pulled along.
Up ahead, in a small meadow with poppies and cornflowers dancing in the breeze, there is a mound of white flowers all clustered together just like the ones by the creek, except here there are hundreds of them.
The scent of jasmine and cinnamon fill the meadow and the sun is illuminating the spot with a bright column of glittering, gold light.
We all stop at the foot of the mound and the boulders uncurl from their balls and stand with heads bowed.
Durga looks at me then bows her head as well.
“What is this?” I ask, confused as to why we have stopped when I thought they were bringing me to my mother.
“This is your mother’s resting place. We had planned to give her a proper ceremony sending her back to The Divine Mother but she transformed into this before we could,” Granny Mog says, with a sympathetic look mixed with something else, a secret perhaps that she is not sharing.
She refuses to meet my eyes, so the answer to that is lost from me.
“She transformed? Into flowers? How does someone just transform?!” I ask with disbelief in my voice.
“People don’t just transform into flowers.
They decompose, they rot and are eaten by bugs and animals and mycelium,” I say, my confusion clearly written on my face as I turn to Durga for confirmation.
She was of the fae. As are you and I, Nuria. We do not return to The Mother in the same way that humans do. I can hear Durga say in my mind, but her words don’t register as anything remotely logical.
Is this some strange joke? Am I dreaming? Did I bleed out and am actually lying by that blackberry bush – dead?
“Fae… as in faeries? I’m a fairy? Ya right!” I laugh out loud in disbelief, but the fact that I have been told this piece of information by reading the mind of a horse and speaking with gnomes makes my disbelief suddenly turn into shock. This cannot be true!
“If you need more reassurance young one then take that paste off your arm. I’m sure you will find it is already perfectly healed.
fae heal very quickly,” Sister Buttercup chimes in and sure enough as I scrape away the green goop I can see my wounds have closed, leaving only a slight pink scar.
I can freely wiggle my fingers without pain.
“But you put that on me. It must be some sort of magic. You are a gnome after all… you’re a magical creature,” I say, trying to deny what they have said I am capable of.
“We are no more magic than the humans. We have our duties to The Earth Mother and execute them well, yes, but we have no special healing magic like the fae. Those were healing herbs poppet; gifted to us by The Mother herself, a gift that all may use. It only aided in your innate ability,” Granny Mog replies.
“Wait a moment, Durga, you are fae as well? But you’re a horse! Why do I look like a human? And don’t fairies have pointy ears and wings?” The questions tumble out of me as all the fairytale stories I once read as a child pop into my head.
“There are many types of fae, dear. Durga is a Metamorph who, unfortunately, cannot turn into her humanoid form since she passed into the human realm. You, my dear, are what they call an Etherealist, which has come to be a very rare gift amongst the Elemental fae. They have an affinity over the ruling element of the mind… the Ether,” Granny Mog replies, talking in calming tones as if I am a skittish baby deer that is about to bolt.
“An Etherealist?” I say, testing the word out on my tongue. Is that why I can sometimes read minds and communicate through thoughts? I chew on my nails as I ponder what this means. My whole strange childhood is making more and more sense but at the same time, completely overwhelming me.
Fairies… I laugh out loud, earning a few curious looks.
Endless questions are racing through my mind and my voice fails me as I stare wide eyed at Granny Mog’s warm features.
What else can an Etherealist do? Was my mother an Etherealist?
Is my father fae as well? Why was I brought to the human realm?
Why can’t Durga change back? Does any of this have to do with my sister being taken?
My sister… I’ve been here too long! I need to find Marissa!
Granny Mog squeezes my hand, drawing me back into focus.
“Slow down Nuria, I cannot answer all you have asked dear child as I do not have the answers. What I can tell you is that we saw a varg come through here carrying an unconscious girl.” The surrounding gnomes shudder at the name of the creature.
“We feared it had gotten you but I could tell it had made a mistake and taken another poor soul. I am truly sorry that the varg has taken your sister but my dear you must not follow them! Your mother warned us you would try to return but the fae realm is cruel and tricky. No place for someone raised by humans,” Granny Mog pleads.
“You… you tried to warn me about the varg in my vision. Why is it after me?” I question, looking around as if I may see a sign of where the creature has taken Marissa.
“It is a minion of The Wolf King. One of his young lackeys sent it through. I do not know why it was sent for you though; I only know that your mother was running from something when she came through The Gate. My child you must stay here,” Granny Mog warns.
“Don’t go, Nuria, stay with us!” Brother Willow exclaims and several other gnomes call out in agreement.