Moonlight and Owl's Wings

“Care for a evening fly?” He shifted himself to the rear seat of the dual-rider saddle, opening up the front seat for me.

“Sure.” I smiled. He seemed to know my answer before I even said it.

He held out his hand to me and I took it, my heart skipping a beat. I hoped that he did not notice my slightly sweaty palms. I stuck my foot into the stirrup and clambered up on the owl’s back. He placed the reins in my hands and, wrapping his arms around me, gently encircled my hands with his. Now my heart was racing. I could feel my cheeks getting hot and was glad that he could not see me blushing. Or if he did, it wasn’t mentioned. He gave a little whistle to the owl, and, with a few silent swoops of her broad wings, we were airborne.

I have been flying more times than I could count; I owned a robin as my steed. But this was night flying with the prince on a royal mount. The wind tossed my hair as we rose higher and higher. I looked down on the Summer Founding Celebration that stretched out below. I have attended that festival and many like it before, but seeing it from the air was different. It took my breath away.

“I am surprised the king let you leave this evening.”

“I take after the queen, a bit of a rebellious spirit.” He chuckled.

Below us, the kingdom was in the middle of wondrous merriment; everyone was out for it. The entire meadow was aglow with light. Hundreds of slender beeswax candles, set in candelabras, flickered in the evening air. They adorned numerous hewn wooden tables set out row by row, overflowing with food. Benches teemed with fairies as they sat feasting. Giant roasted grasshoppers sat in the center of each table on birch-bark platters, surrounded by fresh baked loaves of bread and vats of vegetable stew. Barrels of this season’s dandelion wine sat on either end of each table, the spout seemingly always opens, filling yet another glass. Well, what was left of feast, for the revelry had been going on for hours already.

Those that were not sitting and eating were up dancing. Small ensembles of musicians, scattered throughout the meadow, were entertaining the crowd with melodies. Bows of twig and opossum hair skittered across fiddles made from bean pods. Flutes of hollow grass stems sang out enchanting tunes and empty nutshell drums tapped out lively beats. As the fairies danced among the sweet clover tops, they disturbed fireflies resting there, sending them aloft. They fluttered and flickered, like little stars swept down from the night sky.

“Oh, there’s mother and father.” The prince motioned down to the sea of fairies below.

Everyone was dressed in beautiful garments embellished with colorful feathers, wild flowers, and dragonfly wing scales. Two figures in the center of it all stood out. One was dressed in vivid purple cape and a crown with a plume of golden finch feathers. The other was in a pale blue dress and had a crown of lilac flowers that cascaded down her long hair. They could only be the king and queen. They were dancing, along with a multitude of other fairies. It was the Smoke Dance, named so for the way you twirl about as you change partners with every other spin.

As we circled above the meadow, we listened to the music floating on the breeze and watched the fairies spin and twirl, spin and twirl. Their delicate, gossamer-like wings shimmered in the candlelight with every sway and turn. I loved the Smoke Dance; it was fun, communal. However, it is not a dance easily performed after imbibing in a few glasses of wine.

It was not always a paradise like this. There are some old enough to remember the way it was before a human granted this home to us over sixty years ago. Prior to that, we fairies used to live among the wild tall-grass, flower fields, and old growth forests that once blanketed the land. We lived among nature, making our homes in tree burls and using our delicate wings to catch air, allowing us to jump freely between tree limbs. With wings unable to bear our weight in long flight, we tamed and flew on the backs of songbirds through the forests. For traversing the fields in swiftness, we saddled and rode large mice. We foraged for wild berries and mushrooms, farmed grains and small vegetables, and hunted insects such as crickets and grasshoppers.

Then, our world began to disappear. Humans moved in, cutting down forests and tearing up fields. They built large dwellings of their own and planted strange, short grass. We tried to adapt and live in their new nature, but then came the toxic clouds that swept over everything. Whatever it was they put down, it sickened us terribly. We could no longer live there. So the king, the prince’s great-grandfather, moved his entire people away to save their lives. Displaced, the fairies wandered for a generation. They struggled to survive, moving from place to place until it became uninhabitable as well.

Then one summer day, the fairies happened upon pristine land. A clear bubbling creek flowed past meadows of sweet clover, where horses and cows grazed. Cattail reeds swayed in marshy outcropping on the water’s edge and berry bushes abounded in clusters. Rows of farmed grain stretched over hills, giving way to woodlands with mighty oaks, tall pines, and cottonwood trees of goliath girth. Nestled in the center of it all was a single human settlement. There, fruit trees lined a rocky pathway to a low house with flowerbeds surrounding it. Garden plots, brimming with freshly grown produce, dotted the yard. Off in the distance were stacks of white boxes from which honeybees flew.

It truly was a paradise, just like the kingdom of old. But, there was one problem: a human lived here.

Still fearful from the first humans they encountered, the fairies were hesitant, waiting and watching the humans. A young man and his budding family called this place home. The man whistled while he milked the cows, farmed in the fields, and tended to his gardens. His wife managed the home, the flowerbeds, and the hives. A little baby gently rocked in a cradle.

The king watched until he was convinced that this place would be their future home too. The old king died soon after, leaving his son and heir with the enormous task of rebuilding the kingdom. The place his father had found was perfect. But would it remain that way? Would this place one day be destroyed too? So the new king did what no other fairy king in history had done; he showed himself to mankind.

Humans can see us when they are children but usually not when they have grown. Our magic is like that; once they stop believing such things, the ability to experience it slowly slips away. But we can also use that magic to show ourselves if we choose. The new king, the prince’s grandfather, did just this.

He revealed himself to the humans and told them the fairies’ story, begging the man and his wife to allow the fairies to live on this land. He promised them that the fairies would only take what they needed and would cause the family no trouble. The king pleaded that this land be allowed to remain in its current state as a haven. The humans, kind in their hearts, agreed to this.

And so the kingdom was rebuilt on new soil. It took years to do, as there was much work. New homes had to be hewed into tree knots and fresh crops planted. But the humans, being kind, helped the fairies. The man built them houses, much like the ones he had built for birds that already swayed from the tree branches. The woman told them to take from the garden, for there was plenty, and gave the fairies milk from the cows and honey from the hives.

That summer day so many years ago, when this paradise was found, is marked each year with the Summer Founding, a festival to celebrate the new birth of the kingdom.

The prince laughed out loud and pointed to the king. The Smoke Dance was over, leaving all its participants dizzy and swaying haphazardly.

“Judging by the looks of it, father is not even going to remember that I left. He loves to talk and drink with as many people as he can at festivals.”

I laughed too and with a little nudge of the stirrup, the price set the owl off towards the creek, the celebratory scene growing smaller and smaller as we flew away.

I had met the prince three weeks before tonight. I was down by the creek, picking ripe boysenberries when I heard the call of a snail’s-shell horn in the distance. Suddenly, over the reeds, came a dragonfly zooming through the air and, hot on its heels, was a group of young men in a hunt. One of the mounts, a blue jay, swooped too close to the reeds in an effort to catch the quarry. The rider’s leg grazed the edge of a cattail, causing him to be thrown from the saddle. The rest of the hunting party, too engaged in the chase, left that rider behind.

I set down my woven grass basket and went to see if this person was hurt. I found a young fairy sitting on the creek bank, spitting out the reed’s fluff; he was covered in mud.

“Are you hurt?” The concern in my voice was genuine. I could see that his wings were scratched badly and his clothes were torn at the legs.

“I’ve had better looking days.” He looked at me and smiled as he pulled a clump of mud out of his hair. There was something about the way his eyes sparkled. Despite the fact that he was filthy, he was handsome. I laughed; he had such humor about his misfortune. He picked himself up and wiped his face on his shirtsleeve.

“Care for a berry?” I motioned to my basket.

“Sure.”

We sat on the rocks by the creek, eating berries. We sat there for what seemed like forever, just talking as we waited for his friends to return. The conversation came so naturally, it was as if we had been friends for years. I did not know he was the prince; he never said anything that would have given it away. It was not until the rest of the hunting party returned for their lost rider that I learned that information. His friends poked gentle fun at his less than graceful fall and current disheveled state. I stood there in shock as he mounted his steed to fly back to the royal residence. He sat on the blue jay’s back, staring at me.

“Do you come here often?” His friends smirked and rolled their eyes as he asked.

“Almost everyday.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes.” I smiled and nodded.

“Good.” He smiled back and flew away.

The prince tightened his arms around me as we swooped down toward the creek, the tips of the owl’s wings just barely touching the surface of the water. It shimmered with the light from a full amber moon above us. The sky full of stars reflected in the water and rippled in our wake. Frogs croaked and crickets chirped in the warm evening air. Fireflies flickered in the grass. We circled above a spot near the water’s edge. I could see the outlines of reeds and berry bushes below. I knew exactly where we were.

“Recognize it?”

“Of course,” I said. “That’s where you fell off your bird.” I turned around back in the saddle to look at him and smiled.

He smiled too and with one quick motion, he placed his lips on mine in a kiss.