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Hidden Hollow

Oberon had seen this face so many times, it was memorized. Were it laughing, crying, or loving. He knew it better than his own. And still, he could not perfect it.

His fingers traced the lines and edges, the ridges of paint he’d given to canvas and his heart shuddered. Should he repaint it again? Try different lighting or some other medium? Perhaps he’d go down to where the lilies kissed the Great Water’s hollow and the toads croaked to their mistresses. Or he’d hike Mount Pillion and stand on the ridge that gave birth to its smaller brethren, so he could take on the sun in its full might.

His brush strokes would dry more quickly that close to the sun. The air would give vibrant life just as swiftly as it firmed his creations. Perhaps then, she might feel more alive in his art, than she felt in his mind.

Oberon inhaled and smelled only paint and the dewy afternoon pollens from the glossy Harlock that grew on his balcony. With a face like hers, she should have smelled like sunset. Or early morning when the light was dim and the flowers just opening to dawn’s first kiss.

“Whiling away the hours again, painting the same thing over and over? You’ve become predictable Oberon. And pathetic.”

Frowning, he pulled back from the canvas he’d taken out to study then replaced the thin fabric he’d kept it draped in. “What I do in my free time shouldn’t be of any concern of yours father. It hardly has any impact on the affairs of His Majesty, does it?”

His father stood just within Oberon’s private solar, eyes as green as the ferns that spilled out of various pots and adorned the pillars that held tight to the ceiling. Crocus and lily scented, happily sprawled between the green and made the air heavy with fragrance. But it was as Oberon and many of the other Fairy liked their living chambers. Much of the outside, was in.

“You’ve been secluding yourself again. That is a part of my affairs.”

“What can I help you with Father? I have plans.”

King Hyphus, the epitome of Fairy physique, stood silent like the sentients. His hair was long and pulled back into a queue and as white as his skin which glowed with the ethereal grace of the Lilith Heart. The heart that gave the Fairy people their lives and the rich abundance they were all accustomed. But his countenance was dark and his eyes harsh.

“You push me Oberon.”

Oberon studied his father, “I merely ask what you want of me.”

“You know that you are to take over as King one day. That your duties will be far from paintings and child’s play. You can’t expect to rule the Fairies when you spend your days lost in your head daydreaming like an adolescent. You reached your majority fifty years ago. It’s time you acted like it.”

Oberon fought the urge to defend himself, though he knew it would do no good. His father was hard on him because he felt it the best path. After all, he was grooming a King. Such responsibilities required strength of character and a firmness that Oberon had never been fond of. He was a dreamer. Always lost in his thoughts or wishing he was outside the palace walls when he was within.

He would give much simply to leave with what he had on his back and live somewhere in the fields by himself. He’d work the land beside the cattle and the Aephid. They’d share the spoils of their hard work and in the evenings, he could paint before a fire or out beneath the stars to candlelight.

“Boy,” his father snapped, and Oberon startled back to his chamber.

“Forgive me, father.”

King Hyphus shook his head sadly, “Your mother would be as disappointed in you as I am. The council will hardly want to stand behind a weakling when I finally leave the throne. What am I to do with you?”

Oberon sighed, “I don’t know.”

“Come. You can attend me this evening.”

Oberon knew better than to argue. He’d grown accustomed to these interval meetings and the tongue lashings they produced. If his father was not griping at him, then he was not happy. In fact, Oberon doubted that King Hyphus had ever been happy.

They strode the length of the bridge which connected the Prince’s solar to that of the King’s and Oberon fell into step beside his father silently. Blossoms fluttered in through the stone arches and littered the ground. They crushed underfoot and scented the air with the summer rain. Oberon thought mildly of how he might capture the feeling in chalks.

Pastels would do best. And he’d like to sit near Tor Falls where the roar of the water would ground him as the winds inspired.

Entering Hyphus’ chamber, Oberon was struck as he always was at the stark differences between father and son. Of course, they shared similar tastes, as all Fairy’s would with making use of greenery and flowering plants. Such things were to be expected as the Fairy’s lived and thrived off of the green. But that was where the similarities ended. Where Oberon liked to keep his décor to a minimum and instead make use of lighting and natural pieces, his father chose rich colors, broad statues and gaudy metals. He liked the wealth that being royal afforded them and he displayed it without qualm.

Oberon didn’t like the clutter or the shine of it.

“Take a seat Oberon. Tell me what you see.”

Oberon followed his father’s command to take a seat at the dark stained table beside the balcony and frowned down at a map spread wide. The map was of the Fairy kingdom and that of the outlying areas. Like the Aephid to the south, a quiet farming folk that had lived harmonious with the Fairy for centuries. And to the east, another peaceful neighbor, the Grom. They traded frequently with the mining people for precious metals and jewels.

His father had set playing pieces about the map and had positioned several to their western border where the human realm began. “What does it mean?”

King Hyphus smiled grimly, “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten your studies with all that painting of yours. Here,” he pointed an elegant hand to the row of figures, “We are funneling support to keep the barrier intact. It seems its failing.”

“Failing?”

“Yes. If you’d bothered to come to the last council meeting you might have heard the troubling updates. There have been breeches at the western gates.”

Oberon gripped the table, leaning closer to better study the map, “How many humans have gotten in?”

“None so far. But any might before we can close the gap.”

“Why is it failing now? We’ve had the gates closed for well over a century. Nothing has breached it before.”

“No one is certain. Not even the high priests. They’ve seen nothing like it. But it is failing. If you were to go and stand at the border, you might easily walk right into the human realm without so much as a whisper. Its paper thin and scarcely concealing our kingdom.”

Oberon straightened, giving the table his back. His father was right. He should have come to the last meeting and he should have been there to hear what was going on. He’d been negligent in his duties to their people. Again.

“How long till we see it being closed?”

“We don’t know. The magic that seals it is old. So old, the council and priests are having a hard time finding a solution. For the time being, there have been guards posted around the clock to protect the barrier from intrusions.”

They stood silent for several minutes, both lost in thought, both mirror images save the gentle aging of his father.

“I want to see it.”

King Hyphus blinked, eyes glowing in the dimming light. Evening was approaching and soon the double moon would shine through the open ceiling to light the room. “That would not be wise Oberon. Nor should you do something which is so beneath you.”

“It would be of benefit to see firsthand what it is going on, would it not?”

“No. It isn’t safe.”

“But father, I could go quietly with--,”

“You will not disobey me,” the King hissed, stepping near enough that Oberon was eye to eye with his father. “You will not go near the broken barrier or so help me, I will destroy whatever painting of yours I can get my hands on.”

Oberon stiffened, “You wouldn’t know where to find them.”

“I have my ways, dear son. I’m not completely obtuse about where it is you ramble off to and disappear. You think I would let my son out of my sight without escort? Without someone watching?”

This, Oberon had seen for himself on more than one occasion. Each time he’d become aware of being watched or seen a palace guard keeping tabs on him, he’d simply done his best to ignore them. Now, it made his blood feel chilled and his stomach knot in anger.

“I see.”

“You don’t. And that is precisely the problem,” King Hyphus sighed, reaching for Oberon to draw him nearer. When their foreheads were touching the King closed his eyes and wearily hummed, “Son, you are too headstrong to see when I do things out of love. You are too much like your mother in that way.”

“I didn’t know my mother.”

Hyphus smiled thinly, “She was like you. A wanderer. Easily drifting into the woods for hours at a time. Hardly noticing when time went by or when the day drew to a close. She’d lose herself in her work until she became--,” he stopped himself, voice going tight. “That hardly matters now. You understand me.”

Drawing back out of the embrace so rarely shared, Hyphus shook his head and seemed to distance himself again. “You will not go to the barrier.”

Oberon watched his father, felt the tightness in his throat slowly ease, then nodded. So little he knew of his mother. So very little and just then, he’d seen how dearly his father had loved her. It made him almost ask for more, though it would cost him.

“Good, good. Come, I’m tired. Share a drink with me then find your own bed.”

“Of course, Father,” Oberon obliged, pouring them both a drink of ambrosia with mint. Taking the seat opposite, he settled into the linen cushions and forced thoughts of the barrier aside. For now, his father seemed pleased with him and even appeared to want his company. Oberon would take it.

Morning broke through the palace with bright abandon. Birds sang, warbling high and thin, their songs tempting the staff to sing and even bringing a smile to Hyphus’ mouth. He readied early, preparing for a day to be spent out on the moors. Part of him hoped that Oberon would join him, but the other stronger part, knew that it simply wasn’t the boy’s strong suit. His son didn’t enjoy the duties of the crown nor was he ever likely to. It mattered little. Oberon would one day be ruler and that was a reality.

Climbing the stairs to the dining hall, Hyphus situated himself at the head of the table and hardily partook of his morning meal. He scarcely looked up at the milling staff or noticed the begging cats that wrapped around his legs. He was too busy going over his schedule, the duties he would need to attend to, the moors business and how long such matters might take.

When he paused to look down the table for Oberon, it was then it came to his attention that his son was still not present.

“Where’s the boy?” he snapped at the nearest attendant and startled a youngling passing by with a platter of meats.

“He’s already eaten Majesty.”

“He has?”

“Before dawn. He was up and out even before many of the staff Majesty.”

Hyphus scowled into his hot cider cup, “Thank you.”

It was just like his son to run from responsibility. Just like him. He’d have to teach the boy a lesson when he managed to amble back. Hyphus only hoped it wasn’t after dark by the time he did.

Molly stood, legs braced on the boulder the size of her condo. She inhaled a lungful of pine scented air and sighed with complete bliss.

“Heaven,” she whispered happily, eyeing the rim of blue that delineated the sprawling lake in front of her. Mountains jutted up to reach for the heavens and wore the greenest of trees for covering. The sky was crystal blue with not a cloud in it. It was the perfect day to hike Martyr mountain. And she was going to do it in six hours.

Tapping her wrist watch, Molly rechecked her pack and supplies, found everything as expected then triple knotted her shoe laces. Hiking the peak wasn’t something she did every weekend, but it was one of the rare occurrences she gifted herself with a couple of times a year. Like a pat on the back that gave her a good dose of adrenaline and dopamine.

Molly was an avid outdoorswoman. She hiked, fished, even hunted when she felt like it. But she also spent a great deal of her time trapped within the confines of a classroom. And by choice.

Smiling, she thought of the class she’d just graduated and would miss. She was a high school history teacher and a damn good one at that. Teaching the twelfth grade was more than a challenge, it was a massive undertaking. The students didn’t want to be there any more than she often did, but they all slogged it out together and when summer hit, she was always one of the favorites. She liked to bring history to life in a way that was hands on and very much permanent. It was pitiful to expect teenagers to want to learn in a traditional setting about something that happened hundreds if not thousands of years previous.

So, she did things her way and often ended up making a great deal of her curriculum from scratch. The important part was that her students always passed their end of year exams and graduated into adulthood with a better appreciation for history than when they’d entered her classroom.

Molly was proud of that.

Just like she was proud of herself for making such a hefty goal. No matter that she’d probably want to kill herself when she reached the top.

Feeling the burn in her thighs already, Molly sucked down a few mouthfuls of water from her camel pack then began focusing on the scenery.

There was still dew on the trees from the morning and even though the sun was straining overhead, it felt balmy this high in the woods. There wasn’t a soul in sight. It was just how she liked it. This type of serene solitude just couldn’t be found anywhere else or in quite the same way.

She hiked for another thirty minutes without stopping and when she heard the trickling stream from her first checkpoint, Molly was tempted to do a little victory dance. Out of breath and already slicked with sweat, she strode over to the glacier water stream that ran as clear as crystal and splashed some onto her face and neck. There was a large log perfect for sitting and soft with moss beside it.

“Thank you very much,” she patted the spongy moss with both hands checking for critters, then sat heavily.

It would be glorious to simply fall asleep beneath the canopy of trees with that gentle swishing sound of the wind. She closed her eyes, imagining it perfectly, letting the sweat cool her feverish skin.

Half-dozing, it was the sound of humming that startled her.

Jerking to her feet, Molly spun around and saw no one coming up the trail and no one coming back down. Sure, there were bugs buzzing and if she concentrated she might hear a stray bird or two. But she was the only person up here. That was part of this place’s allure.

Frowning, Molly rubbed both hands over her arms to ward off the goosebumps then turned back in the direction of the trail. She had another four miles to go till summit.

She’d already wasted enough time resting.

But she could still hear the humming.

It was soft. So soft, she might think she was imagining it. But it was there. Just above the shush of the trees swaying and Molly found herself stepping off the trail towards the stream. If she kept to the stream and didn’t stray, she wouldn’t get lost.

At least, that’s what Molly told herself to explain her habitual lack of restraint.

Still, Molly was an explorer at heart. She liked to see the unknown. And that humming was oddly beautiful. Walking over broken twigs and a carpet of pine needles, Molly followed the stream deeper and deeper into the woods until she wondered if she shouldn’t turn back. If she went too far, she’d never have time to summit and get back before sundown.

But then, she saw what she’d been looking for. And it was not what she’d expected in the least.

A man sitting on a stump, painting with long sweeping strokes on a sedate canvas. He was humming something as delicately as he was working, and Molly stood motionless, her feet rooted to the ground. She couldn’t have looked away if she’d wanted to.

Though he had his back to her, she could see he wasn’t dressed typically. Wearing a pale blue sleeveless shirt and black pants that were pushed up to the knees, she could see he was also barefoot and looked as pale as snow. Though the breeze coming off the nearby lake could be called chilly, he didn’t look the least bit bothered. Or uncomfortable.

She noted with fascination that his hair was as pale as his skin. In fact, more so. It was the white of unblemished lily and only cut to his collar. It looked like feathers as the wind blew it off his neck with little effort.

Strikingly handsome. It was her first thought when she watched his arms flex and the muscles move beneath his nearly translucent skin. Otherworldly.

Without thinking through what her next move should be, Molly found herself trying to get closer for a better look. She was too far to see enough detail and she felt she deserved it after walking all this way.

But she should have known that this close, she’d be heard. That is if her brain had been functioning beyond how ethereal that man looked.

Snapping branches clumsily, the man swiveled in her direction and stared. Molly locked eyes with the stranger and felt every drop of blood drain to her toes.

His eyes were the color of the pine and so bright they glowed. And his ears were…pointed.

Molly blinked, tried to make sense in her mind of the picture he made but couldn’t quite get it to compute. White skin, white hair, glowing green eyes and long pointy ears.

She thought vampire. And then she started running hysterically.

Tumbling into branches, taking off at a breakneck pace, Molly was only vaguely aware of the sound of her pursuer. Or how stupid her thought of vampire had been, because that sort of thing was fictional. But the sudden terror she was feeling was clogging up her throat to choke the life out of her.

He was following her.

God, she didn’t want to be killed in these woods and have her body parts strewn across the valley. She’d become some sad story in a forensic tv series.

She ran harder than she’d ever run before.

Breath sobbing, heart slamming into her ribs with each pump of her legs, Molly didn’t know why she was so frightened except that her mind couldn’t make sense of what she’d seen.

Perhaps she’d been mistaken? Then she was running like a fool through the woods and getting herself hopelessly lost.

Or, she’d seen a freakish looking man, and he was chasing her to slaughter her among the ferns.

She couldn’t be certain, nor did she feel capable of relying on her more logical side, so she kept running.

When she ran headlong into a ticket of spiderwebs and then crashed into a tree, Molly burst into frantic tears. Both because now her head screamed and also because her emotions were getting the better of her. Swiping madly at her cheeks, the webbing now trapped in her hair was making it even harder, she scrambled on her knees and moved blindly forward.

There was a strange sucking sensation, like being tugged on by the roots of her hair, but on every hair on her body. Molly staggered, shook her sluggish head, likely due to hitting it on the tree and kept going. Shock could do strange things to a person, hadn’t she read that in a magazine somewhere?

She didn’t dare look behind her to see if she was still being followed. The more distance she put between her and the pointy eared man, the better.

When Molly’s muscles were shaking too badly to keep moving, she propped herself against the nearest tree and began sucking down water. It took her a handful of minutes to realize the tree she was leaning on wasn’t a pine tree. And another few to make sense of the dripping moss or the sultry air that held the smells of some exotic rain forest.

She’d knocked herself unconscious when she’d hit that tree.

That would explain the strange feeling she’d had when crawling blindly through the webs. She’d not done that at all. Rather she was still lying there. At that strange man’s mercy.

Feeling absurdly exhausted and still frightened, though she knew none of this was real, Molly curled into herself and did her best to stay alert. She fell asleep within minutes.

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