4
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Reluctantly, I followed Killian into the beginning of their woodland village.
Homes were erected on either side of the pathway, carved into trees more accurately sized for our shrunken bodies, dug down into the roots beneath the elms, or simply constructed of chopped bark and strung together with grass and vines.
No matter where I looked — high, low, to the side — there were homes.
Between each of them and laid randomly throughout the mulched pathway that we walked were twinkling lights.
I was about to ask Killian where they obtained electricity to power such things, when the lights started to move. It wasn’t faulty lines that caused the ethereal, golden glow of them to flicker, it was the wings on the fireflies that buzzed and twitched.
“Fireflies…” I gasped.
Killian paused as I did, the two of us looking at the volume of them that floated from side to side, occasionally settling against a home or tucking tight against one of the trees. When I finally looked at Killian, he had a soft smile on his face.
“Even the fireflies are small?”
He motioned for me to continue walking, and I jogged to keep up with his long strides. “Only if they choose to be.”
“What does that mean?” I asked. But my attention, truthfully, had been stolen by a few pixies who were chatting amongst themselves in the street ahead. Killian took a sharp turn on to an adjacent path, directing our stroll away from the strangers and to the next vibrant street.
“You’ll find a lot of creatures here whose sizes are not what you are used to.”
“Why?”
Killian tried a levelling breath as he shook his head softly. “We are of the earth. Just as they are. As such, bonds and allegiances are formed. But none of them are here against their will – they are free to leave at any time.”
“Like I am?”
It was a dream, I was sure of it, yet I was struggling to wake up from it. Or, maybe, I didn’t want to wake up from it.
“Like you are.” He shot me a roguish smile from his side before he continued on.
“Can you… can you tell me about pixies?”
A lifted brow twitched on his face.
“Please?”
“What would you like to know?”
I started to notice that every time a stranger popped their head out of their raised, dug, or road-way home, Killian diverted our path.
“What… what are you?”
“A pixie.”
My dissatisfied huff was met with a chuckle from him.
“What is that? Like… a fairy?”
Killian stopped so abruptly I nearly flew by him. With two hands on my shoulders, he held me stern. “Do not mention fairies while you are here.”
I couldn’t help but to giggle. “Why not?”
Killian rolled his eyes at me as he released my shoulders and brushed his hands against his shirt. “Not all the fair folk of this world get along.”
“Pixies and fairies hate each other – got it.”
“It’s not that we hate them. It’s just that… they have chosen to stray from the ways of our people.”
Cocking my head, I struggled some more at keeping his resumed pace. “How so?”
“Fairies live amongst you humans. They have chosen to adapt to that way of life.”
“And none of you have?”
Killian paused on his answer, his mouth slightly agape. “Most of us remain as we always have.”
“But not all of you?”
There was another glimpse of hesitation in his face before he shook it off and replaced the frown with tight lips. “Pull your hair down to cover your ears.”
Yanking at the braid that was holding the majority of my hair hostage, I resorted to half-skipping to remain at his side. Once it was all down and waving against my face, I lifted a brow to him.
“Better.”
“Why?”
Killian rolled his eyes once more, but there was a gleam of mischief behind them as he tucked some of his own hair behind his ear.
It was like mine in most ways, except for the top of it.
Whereas I had rounded, plump ears, Killian had sharp, elongated tips that did not point straight, but curved ever-so-slightly downwards.
“Pixie ears?” I gasped.
“Choilltean ears,” he corrected me. “While you try to blend in as one of us, always beware of the shape of one’s ears. Curved down? Choilltean.”
“Does that matter?” I coughed out before I could stop myself.
Killian regarded me with a sidelong glance. “Yes. Not all of us hold the same values. While you are under my protection, no one in Choilltean will harm you.”
“But others might?”
He shrugged.
I cleared my throat if only to summon courage. “Right. Curved down, I can trust.”
“No.” Killian stopped again, turning on his heel to face me. “You cannot trust any of the pixies.”
“So I can’t trust you?”
His brow flicked up as he stretched his lips into a humoured smile. “You’re starting to get it.”
“Reassuring.”
To that, he shrugged again and motioned for us to continue our walk.
The sun — that was nowhere near visible in the thick confines of the woods — seemed to be lowering itself behind the horizon as the haloed outlines of our surroundings darkened. Nighttime didn’t deter the pixies, though. Instead, they seemed to come alive with the sinking of the sun.
Music was flowing from one street to another, just as the fireflies collected into bigger groups, moving more freely from one spot to another and bleeding light across every surface.
Amongst the music were voices, some singing, some chatting, some whispering as we moved from road to road, never stopping long enough for any of the bystanders to get too good of a look at me.
Two bodies appeared in the street ahead of us, but this time Killian did not change our path. Instead, with a renewed energy to his step, he brought us right to those two strangers.
Except they weren’t strangers. Niamh and Shea bowed deeply to Killian, adding a respectful tip of their chin once they found their spines straight once more. Beneath the dusted light of the fireflies, I finally got a good look at what they were wearing.
I wasn’t sure what type of clothes woodland fair folk might wear, but if I had to guess a week ago, I would have fallen short on the extravagance of their attire.
It appeared to be made of something natural; leaves, vines, or foliage, perhaps.
But it had been beaten down and refined to such an extent that thread had been formed and weaved together to craft shirts and pants of dark green and brown.
Casting a sneaky-peek at Killian at my side, he wore the same attire, yet across his chest, forearms, and shins he had armour that appeared to be made of leather.
There was something strange about the crafting of their clothes, though. I couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but it was a faint shimmering that made them appear far more ethereal than their rugged, burly appearances made me believe.
Both Niamh and Shea had their dark hair pulled back into ponytails, the matted look of it soon revealed to be tight braids that wound around their heads over and over, with vines and cracked leaves wrapped into each intricate design.
“Niamh,” Killian grumbled, “Shea.”
“Killian,” they both beamed.
“You two look far too thrilled.”
They shared a look with one another, shot their eyes to me, and finally looked back at Killian. “Raegan wishes to speak with you.”
The hour or so that I had spent so far with Killian had led me to believe that he was an unshakable force with far too much confidence about himself. But at the mention of that name, I saw him bristle.
“He sent for me?”
With two evil smirks, they nodded. Something shuttled over my own back in the form of a twitching shiver.
It’s just a dream. Just a dream. You’re safe.
Killian pushed at the long lengths of his hair before turning to me. “It looks like it is time for you to meet the Prince of Choilltean.”
I had always wanted to meet royalty, but judging by the solemn look on all three of the pixies' faces, I realized that perhaps this was not a good thing.