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danilodiazgranadosmanglano · 5 years ago

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Pensamiento vertical: definición y 11 características

**Existen diferentes tipos de pensamiento, en función de sus características, procedimientos, usos, campos de aplicación**... Una gran división del pensamiento es la que lo clasifica en: pensamiento vertical (lógico) y [pensamiento lateral (creativo)](/inteligencia/psicologia-creatividad-pensamiento). **En este artículo hablaremos de uno de ellos: el pensamiento vertical o lógico**, fundamentado en la razón. Explicaremos en qué consiste, cuáles son sus 11 características más importantes y conoceremos alguna de sus diferencias respecto al pensamiento lateral. * Te puede interesar: ["Los 9 tipos de pensamiento y sus características"](/inteligencia/tipos-pensamiento) ## El pensamiento: definición y funciones El pensamiento es, en cierta manera, una de las características definitorias del ser humano. Se trata de una capacidad que nos diferencia de los animales, y que nos permite formar ideas, relacionarlas unas con otras y representar la realidad en nuestra mente. También nos permite solucionar problemas, extraer conclusiones, analizar datos y secuencias, etc. Existen muchas maneras de pensar, y seguramente, todas ellas son complementarias, válidas y necesarias en un contexto u otro. **Cuando utilizamos la razón, la lógica y la evidencia, estamos utilizando un tipo de pensamiento denominado pensamiento vertical**. ¿Quieres conocer más detalles sobre este tipo de pensamiento? Sigue leyendo. ## Pensamiento vertical: ¿en qué consiste? **El pensamiento vertical también se denomina pensamiento lógico**. Sería el pensamiento “opuesto” al pensamiento lateral, que es más libre y creativo. Así, el pensamiento vertical se caracteriza por ser un tipo de pensamiento basado en el análisis y el razonamiento. Cuando lo utilizamos, solemos llegar a conclusiones y soluciones donde previamente otros han llegado, es decir, no es tan “innovador” en este sentido, como sí lo es el pensamiento lateral. De esta manera, cuando utilizamos la lógica y el sentido común, estamos utilizando un pensamiento vertical; este, además, se caracteriza porque utiliza vías y estrategias ya conocidas y “visibles” a simple vista, es decir, estrategias más obvias o más recurrentes. Estas estrategias sirven para resolver un problema o para llegar a una conclusión. En realidad, el pensamiento vertical se utiliza mucho más que el lateral, porque este último se basa en la creatividad y en utilizar estrategias menos obvias o menos visibles (en cierta manera, más difíciles de encontrar). ## Características Vamos a conocer **las 11 características más importantes del pensamiento vertical** a continuación. ### 1. Enfatiza la lógica Como veíamos, este tipo de pensamiento se fundamenta en la lógica. Es decir, enfatiza el encadenamiento secuencial lógico de las cosas y de las ideas. Esto quiere decir que para llegar a una conclusión a través del pensamiento vertical, deberemos analizar de forma detallada los pasos que nos permitirán llegar a ella, y seguirlos de forma estricta. De esta manera, la solución del problema la hemos definido previamente y de forma concreta, y la dirección que tomamos para llegar a ella también está bien definida. ### 2. Soluciones ya demostradas Otra característica del pensamiento vertical es que se suele basar en soluciones que ya han demostrado previamente su eficacia (en otras situaciones, momentos, contextos…). Es decir, se pretende “ir a lo seguro” en este sentido. ### 3. Enfatiza la razón El pensamiento vertical, además, también se fundamenta en la razón, además de en la lógica. La razón es una capacidad que nos permite establecer relaciones entre conceptos, así como obtener resultados y/o conclusiones ante determinados problemas. Así, es la vía que utiliza el pensamiento vertical para diseñar los pasos “a seguir” a la hora de resolver ciertos problemas. ### 4. Se basa en el análisis Por otro lado, el pensamiento vertical se basa en el análisis de diferentes elementos: entre ellos, el análisis del problema original (sus causas, consecuencias…), el análisis de la metodología a seguir (los pasos) para obtener una solución, y finalmente el análisis de la solución implementada (aunque no en todos los casos). ### 5. Útil en las matemáticas Estas características que hemos comentado hacen que el pensamiento vertical sea especialmente útil en determinados campos y ámbitos, como por ejemplo el de las matemáticas y las ciencias, ya que pretenden ser campos exactos. Además, en las matemáticas o en las ciencias, debemos utilizar secuencias de pasos determinadas, para llegar a soluciones determinadas, lo que caracteriza al pensamiento vertical. Si utilizamos pasos diferentes o en orden diferente, muchas veces no conseguiremos llegar al resultado deseado. ### 6. Énfasis en el proceso El pensamiento vertical se caracteriza porque el proceso a seguir es muy importante para llegar a la conclusión correcta o acertada, a diferencia del pensamiento vertical, que enfatiza la efectividad de la solución. ### 7. El objetivo es llegar a una conclusión válida La dirección que marcamos cuando utilizamos el pensamiento vertical es única y está bien delimitada; a través de esa dirección seguimos unos pasos y llegamos a una conclusión. Este es el objetivo del pensamiento vertical. ### 8. Los pasos son “sagrados” Los pasos que diseñamos para llegar a nuestra conclusión, son de gran importancia. Esto significa que no podemos saltarnos ninguno, ni cambiar el orden, porque eso impediría que llegaramos a nuestra solución. Es decir, los pasos que establecemos deben respetarse siempre. Esto también lo diferencia del pensamiento lateral, donde los pasos pueden saltarse y lo que importa es la solución (y la creación). ### 9. No se relaciona con otros planteamientos Otra característica del pensamiento vertical es que no utiliza otros temas para llegar a una conclusión, ya sean temas relacionados con el que estamos trabajando o independientes de ello. Es decir, se trabaja exclusivamente con los planteamientos del problema. Esto no quiere decir que no utilice otras soluciones que ya han demostrado su efectividad, porque eso sí lo hace. ### 10. Se basa en la evidencia Así, en relación a lo último que comentábamos, el pensamiento vertical se basa en la evidencia para diseñar sus pasos y buscar soluciones. En cambio, el pensamiento lateral se centra en enfoques o planteamientos menos obvios o menos evidentes. ### 11. Su objetivo es encontrar una solución El objetivo del pensamiento vertical es encontrar una solución al problema planteado; esto quiere decir que siempre se encontrará una solución, aunque inicialmente no sea “la mejor”. ## Pensamiento vertical vs. pensamiento lateral **Podemos decir que el pensamiento vertical es el antagónico al pensamiento lateral**. Solo hemos visto alguna de las diferencias entre ambos, pero existen muchas más. A grandes rasgos, lo que los diferencia principalmente es que el pensamiento vertical es lógico y analítico, y el pensamiento lateral es creativo y libre, e intenta ir “más allá”. Estos dos tipos de pensamiento son eficaces en momentos diferentes y, en cierta manera, se pueden complementar a fin de optimizar nuestros recursos y hallar conclusiones diversas. Así, cada uno de ellos se podrá aplicar en unos contextos, ámbitos o campos específicos. #### Referencias bibliográficas: * Espino, O. (2004) Pensamiento y razonamiento. Pirámide. * Garnham, A. y Oakhill, J. (1996) Manual de Psicología del Pensamiento. Ed. Paidós. * Sánchez, L. (2017). La inflexión entre el pensamiento vertical y el pensamiento lateral. Taller de producción de mensajes, 1-3. Ver Fuente Ver Fuente

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ellaofoakhill · 5 months ago

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Behold! An Ella of Oakhill, in a very special outfit!

This is the first time picking the colour palette took at least as long as pinning down the actual design, but I'm happy with how it finally turned out :)

Closeups are under the cut.

#my art #my ocs #three legacies of magic #the fairy tales of ella and meline #lord ella of oakhill

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ellaofoakhill · 3 months ago

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The Fairy Tales of Ella and Meline #2: Oak and Stone

Oak and Stone

“To Lord Ella of Oakhill,

“I hope you’re well. Thanks again for your help with that potion; I couldn’t have made it without your help. You also saved my life, and treated me as a guest in your house.

“To thank you, I invited you to the town of Oak and Stone, for food and fun, so I was wondering if you’re you available on July 8th?

“If yes, enclosed is a map from Oakhill to the town gate. If you can’t read my gryphon-scratch, just follow the line of oaks by the south end of the pasture to the cairns. I’ll be there, in a carrot orange dress.

“Truly Yours,

Meline of Wild Rose.

P.S. I recommend dressing for the heat.”

***

“Honourable Madam Meline of Wild Rose,

“I am indeed well, as are my hall and its environs. May this letter find a smile upon your face. You honour me with your praise, though my actions could have been no less in the face of such steadfast goodwill as your own.

“As per your invitation, I gladly accept. This 8th of July seems an auspicious day. I shall follow your directions as best I am able, and shall appear no later than the 3rd hour following the setting sun.

“Your Humble Servant,

Lord Ella of Oakhill.”

***

The cairns and oaks were strewn with fireflies and fairy lights. “In all my years here,” Ella said as Coarser trotted along, “I never knew about any of this. Did you, my handsome stallion?” Coarser nickered, nodding his head. “And you never told me?” She playfully slapped his rump. He swung his head back and smacked her shin. She checked the map. The gate should be close...

She dismounted at the base of three oaks. “I suppose you’ll hang around, basking in the adulation of fey women?” Coarser’s neigh sounded very much like laughter. “If a willing filly happens by, just make sure you’re home by sunrise, alright?” He rolled his eyes. She met them. “Have a nice night, my boy.” He gently butted her head.

Three cairns, each piled about the base of an oak, marked the gate to Oak and Stone, according to Meline’s directions. Every now and again, light would flicker from somewhere in between them, obscured by the brush, horsetails, and a surprising number of ferns. There were a few fey and creatures here and there, bustling about. The fey were mostly fairies and gremlins, though she saw a few gnomes, and even an elf.

She scanned each as they walked by. “Hmm, I wonder what’s keeping her…”

“Keeping who?” Ella spun around. Meline could not have stood much closer, a mischievous smile on her face. She pulled back her mantle, revealing a carrot orange dress and a deep green bodice embroidered with gold leaves. When she pulled back her hood, her long dark hair glittered with green gems.

“Meline!” Ella bowed. “How did… is that make-up?”

Meline clapped her cheeks. “I… it-it’s a Dullndeshi thing!”

“I know several fey from Dullndesh, and none of them covered their faces with make-up.”

“How well?”

“Pardon?”

“How well do you know them?”

“Pretty well, we’re old friends.”

“Well, we just met, and it’s more a first formal meeting thing, so they likely haven’t made themselves up in a long time.” Meline raised her eyes. “Should I not have?”

“Well, I can’t tell red from green with how thick it is.”

Meline half-chuckled. “I’ll try not to get angry or disgusted with you tonight.” She offered her arm.

Ella took it. “Alright. But I’ve been told I draw embarrassment like a worm draws robins.”

“Then we’ll be extra cautious.” Meline drew Ella into the brush between the cairns. “You aren’t carrying a blade, are you?” Ella pulled up the hem of her lightest jupon, revealing the pocket knife on her left hip. Meline sighed as she examined it. “Hmm… It shouldn’t exceed the length requirements.”

“Requirements?”

“You haven’t been here before,” Meline said as they resumed walking, “but the world has changed. The mayor and the Watch keep things quite safe, and part of that has been banning all blades above three eighths of an inch long.”

“Oh.” Ella thought as they walked between the cairns. “What about the artisans? The coopers, for instance. Or the butchers. Carving up a beetle is no easy task with a tiny knife.”

“There are exemptions,” Meline said, “but each artisan has to put their mark on their tools, and follow other restrictions.”

“I see.” They made it to the centre of the cairns. There was a flat slab of granite just above the grass. “Are we here?”

Meline nodded. She took a peridot from her hair, and asked it to knock on the door. She knelt, and touched the now-glowing gem to the granite. The stone glowed, fluid script and symbols racing across its surface faster than even fairy eyes could see. A harvest mouse appeared with a small “pop”, dressed in green, with a copper badge on his jacket and a monocle over one eye. He had a fly on a tether tied to his wrist, and a knobbly staff in the crook of one arm.

“Names?” He had a clipboard and was scrawling with impressive speed.

“Lord Ella of Oakhill, and Meline of Wild Rose,” Meline said.

The mouse, whose whiskers were longer than he was tall, looked up at them. “Ah, Meline. Back so soon?”

“Her Lordship did me a good turn recently, Jasper. I’d like to show her around town.”

“Ah, I see, I see.” Jasper turned to Ella. “Is her lordship carrying any weapons?”

“Just this,” Ella said, pulling the knife from her belt and handing it over. Jasper took the proffered blade, and unsheathed it.

“Hmm, fairy silver…” he bent the blade into a perfect U and it sprang back, then poked the tip into his staff; it bit deep into the wood without apparent effort on his part. “Good fairy silver…” he measured the dagger against his staff, the lower half ringed with measured notches. “Total blade length: three sixteenths and two sixty-fourths.” He handed it back with a toothy smile. “A fine blade, and yours to keep while in town.” He leaned in. “Who’s the smith?”

Ella chuckled. “Lord Ella of Oakhill, my good mouse.” She bowed.

Jasper looked a shade dumbfounded. Meline coughed. “Fine work, yes,” he said with a start. “Enjoy your evening in Oak and Stone, my lord.” And he rapped the butt of his staff against the granite.

“That’s n—” but Ella didn’t get to say what that was before light blazed from the granite slab, and her feet left the ground.

When they came back down, they no longer stood in the pasture beyond the yard behind the house.

Ella looked up. The stars were entirely different from those she had looked up at for millennia. She glanced over at Meline, who appeared to be barely containing her glee.

“Where do you think we are?” Meline’s voice was an octave higher than normal.

“Well,” Ella looked up at the stars. They declined to answer. “We are clearly not on Gaea anymore.”

“Right!” Meline was practically jumping up and down.

“And…” Ella frowned. “The sky’s purple, and I can’t see Fom, Tharn, or Dyn.” She shivered, catching just a bit of Meline’s excitement. “We aren’t on Fey either.”

“No, we’re not!” Meline was almost laughing.

“Alright, why is this so funny?” From the way Meline talked, she visited Oak and Stone once a fortnight.

“Mostly the look on your face,” Meline said. “I’ve brought a few friends here over the years, and while knowing a third world exists, first reactions to being here are without exception hilarious.”

Ella smiled. “What was your first reaction?”

Meline snorted. “Hold on, let me step into character.” She took a step backward and closed her eyes. She abruptly opened them. She looked left and right, forward, and then up. Her eyes bulged—Ella could discern individual stars in them—and her jaw dropped. She looked in Ella’s general direction, pointed down, then back up, then started waving her arms in perfect incomprehension. Ella started to laugh. “How was my acting?”

Ella shrugged. “I wasn’t there.”

Meline’s face went blank for a moment before she laughed. “Come on.” She stepped off the platform.

Most disorienting for Ella, as she followed Meline—south?—was that other than the sky, their immediate surroundings were almost identical to those they’d left behind, down to the same arrangement of three red, white, and black rocks, one of which had a wrinkled oak leaf sitting on it. Beyond the cairns were thick ferns and horsetails. “So then where are we?”

Meline shrugged. “We are neither in one of the heavens, nor one of the hells, obviously. We are not on Fey, nor Gaea.” She looked up at the sky. “Frankly, after I accepted that Gaea is very much like Fey, it wasn’t a huge stretch to believe there are three mortal realms, since I already knew there were two.”

Ella scratched her head. “Why don’t all of us know about this?”

Meline looked at her. “Most fey and creatures around here do, and virtually all of Fey knows. There are almost certainly portals connecting Fey and Nidd, but Gaea has all the portals to Nidd that I know of.”

Ella nodded. She nearly expressed her doubt that she could not know about a portal to a third world less than an hour’s ride from her house. She shook herself. “You mean to show me a good time this evening. I’ll save my questions.”

“Good.” Meline smiled again. “Let’s go.”

As they walked through the undergrowth, Ella saw lights passing nearby, and heard voices. There was an undercurrent of sound, though, like the wind rushing through the trees.

The ground rose beneath their feet, becoming rockier. The ferns thinned out, and suddenly they were on a ridge. On the slope below them was a cascade of lights that could only be the town, on a shallow bay perhaps a half mile across. Beyond that was another island, a low peak with a bite taken from its top, clothed in trees. Beyond that, to the horizon, silver-black in the starlight, was the sea.

“Do you know,” Ella said in a small voice, “how long it’s been since I saw the ocean?”

Meline took her arm. “Too long?” Ella nodded. “We have all night; we can stay up here as long as you like.”

Ella looked slowly around. Back the way they had come, the cairns sat in a small dip in a second, much higher mountainside. Ice glittered at its peak. Beautiful as it was, her eyes were soon drawn back to the water.

After a few moments more, Ella turned to Meline. “If we have time after you show me around, we can walk along the beach.”

The mischievous smile was back on Meline’s face. “Only if we have time.”

***

Oak and Stone was a bustling town, with fey and creatures briskly going about their business every hour of day and night, according to Meline. There were mice like Jasper here, as well as voles, weasels, ground squirrels, tree squirrels, stoats, a few bats, and many other creatures Ella knew.

And more than a few she did not, tuatarans and thritheles and cynos and a dozen others. Creatures like the lizards Ella had encountered on Gaea, or on Fey. But no lizard she knew of had four arms. The smallest of these was a head taller than her. Tusks twisted down from their jaws. Their bodies were grey-brown or mottled green, with frills on their jaws and crests on their heads, which many had painted or tattooed or pierced with rings and studs. Some had horns, and one or two had a pair of leathery wings. According to Meline, they called themselves drakles, and many of them were sailors.

What most surprised Ella about this place—unknown beings were really to be expected—was the abundance of elves. Well, relatively speaking; abundance was not a word one applied to elves. But there were more of them here than Ella had ever seen on Gaea. To be fair, impeccable manners and condescending undercurrents aside, elves were known more than anything for their love of the sea. And the sea Oak and Stone had in abundance.

Meline showed her down to the shipyards, where vessels from across this world—the drakles called it Nidd—docked and unloaded their goods. These went to the seaside market, a paved square by the water with canals running through. These allowed smaller boats to paddle or pole into town and drop their goods right by the stalls and shops.

There were fabrics Ella had never seen, some softer than velvet, others smoother than silk, still others so strong Ella’s knife could not cut them; according to Meline, those needed crystal-edged scissors to be cut into shape. There were spices alien to Ella’s nose and tongue, including one somewhere between lemon and banana that she particularly liked; Meline laughed at the incredulous delight that flashed across Ella’s face when she tasted it. There were strange rocks and shells, scales shed by massive beasts, and gems that seemed commonplace here which Ella had only read about.

Meline’s boast about the local wood was true. A fairy could mould kerdzgas, a local word roughly meaning “clay-wood”, with her bare hands while it was green—or, more accurately, orange��and once it seasoned it became like gnomish silver; Ella shaved the hair from her arm with a knife made from it. There were metals as well— all the harmless metals were sold in finger-sized ingots, and the mayor had banned the import of iron for all but a few specialized purposes—but this kerdzgas was so easy to work hardly anyone used the metals only smelting could produce.

Beyond the market were shops. There was a shop bordering the market that sold crepes filled with berry and honeyed cream; Ella laughed at the white moustache on Meline’s upper lip. Another sold kebabs of sweet and spicy fruits, of roots savoury, sweet, and spicy, and of the spiced meats of different fish and insects, or whatever the equivalent was here.

There were shops that sold fine berry wines, cordials, and ciders, and shops that sold candied chocolate mixed with granules of nuts and dried fruits. There was stronger drink as well, but Ella had hardly more than a sip of a spiced liqueur that made her fingers and toes tingle. Too much made a fool of anyone, and Ella was in a town she did not know, in a world she did not know, surrounded by fey and creatures she did not know.

But Meline knew a great deal about this town in another world. Many shopkeepers and stall-owners in the market waved or greeted her by name, and she knew each of them, their families, and how their business was doing. Perhaps it was Ella’s imagination, but the crowds around them seemed to swirl not only with folks moving toward Meline, but with a few who moved away as well, and there were some shopfronts she passed over unless Ella asked after them; they never stayed long in those shops, and Ella noticed more than a few quartz coins leave Meline’s purse whether they bought anything or not.

After they were quite full, Meline led Ella across the bridge and out of the square. Ella had heard the sounds of industry from this section of town for some time, but she suspected Meline had been building toward this.

Ella worked a wide variety of metals, woods, and some fabrics, but would have freely admitted her grasp of other materials was lacking. She saw a water fairy weaving six different materials into one cloth, a mole and a frog setting gemstones into a brooch, a squat, spiny

local—they called themselves ekidnes, according to Meline—throwing a clay pot, and a squirrel blowing glass.

Meline led Ella around a corner, and Ella’s fingers thrummed to the melody of hammer on metal. A shop with a sign depicting a hammer and anvil drew her. Beneath a slate lean-to beside a five-storey house, a drakle green as new leaves held a bronze bar in two pairs of tongs while his upper arms operated a hammer and punch. Ella watched as he twisted and worked the cherry-red metal into a whorl of vines and leaves. He had already finished the central portion, with three vines braided around each other. He had two trays of tools in easy reach, and the fluidity and precision with which he picked up and set down tools—hardly taking his eyes off his work—gave Ella to know this drakle might have plied his trade as long as she had. His lips moved; even with his obvious proficiency, the metal glowed more red than it should, and fell into shape a shade too easily.

She leaned close to Meline. “I thought only we fey had worldly magic.” Meline just shook her head.

Finally he set the piece on a frame and stood, reaching for the ceiling. His crest and frills were bright red. He wore a thick apron, a breechcloth wound to accommodate his tail, and a sort of brief, wide-necked poncho tied under his uppermost arms.

His eye wandered in their direction. “Ah, Meline,” he said, stepping out from under the awning, “good seeing you again.” He had a thick, unfamiliar accent, with something of a lisp.

Meline went forward and took his hands—well, two of them, anyway—with a bow. “And you, Art.” She turned to Ella. “Ella, this is Artur Bronzemonger, the best metalworker in Oak and Stone.”

Ella bowed. “It’s always nice to meet another of my kind.”

Meline turned back to Art. “Art, this is Lord Ella of Oakhill. She recently did me a great service, and to repay her I’m showing her around town.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “Her smithing might give you a run for your money.”

Art raised a pair of scaly eyebrows as he took Ella’s hands and bowed. A forked tongue flicked out of his mouth. Ella pulled her head back. Art’s eyes widened—she realized each eye had two pupils—and he sucked his tongue back into his mouth. His frill reddened more. “Please forgive. Fey of island new to Nidd, have new ways, I am not young.” After an awkward pause he added, “You smell of metal, charcoal, and wood—mostly oak, also willow and poplar—but with lavender on top. Good.”

“I… will consider this a cultural miscommunication,” Ella said. She felt a flush creep up her neck. “Could you… would you honour me by showing us around your forge?”

Art’s eyes gleamed. “Always happy to show other smith my work.”

“Then lead on, good sir!” Ella said.

Artur reached for a clay pitcher by a sturdy door leading into what was probably his house. “Would you like ice water?” he asked. “Smithing is good work, but hot.”

Meline’s ears flicked up. “How do you keep your ice?”

“Carters bring ice down mountain in crates with sawdust,” Art said as he opened the door to his cellar and hopped down. He came back up with several finger-shaped chunks of ice, dropped one in each glass, and put the rest in his pitcher. “I put it in icebox downstairs.” He took a long draught from his cup. Ella noticed his frill start to pale. “Can also have water drakle freeze for you, but genuine article tastes better. Now,” he rubbed two of his four hands together, “I show you projects.”

Hanging from the ceiling was a bronze-bladed scythe. On two hooks on the far wall were a pair of axes, one with a silver head, the other copper. Tools of various kinds hung on the wall, including a number Meline was unfamiliar with; the only one that stumped Ella turned out to be a set of scale clippers. A pair of silver shields shaped like gigantic scales intrigued her.

Art, unsurprisingly, proved a fount of knowledge regarding his craft. There were a few points he was unable to clarify for Ella, though she suspected this was due more to a slight want in his Feyish than a lack of understanding. He had no trouble making silver and gold as hard and strong as any fey.

“And how’s Ingrid doing?” Meline asked in a lull in the conversation. Something flapped overhead.

“Like wyrm in dirt,” Artur said, cocking his head. “In fact—” Ella jumped as a hare-sized black shape landed like a hexcat on the street and started toward them, only distantly hearing Artur add “—speak of dragon and hear roar.”

Ella barely heard Meline as the wyvern approached, her body glistening black scales under a white garment like a gigantic version of Art’s top. Gold and silver piercings decorated her wings and face, and her left horn was wrapped in a spiral of gold; the right was broken off half an inch from her skull.

“Good to see you, Meline,” she said, touching her enormous wrists to Meline’s hands, as her eyes turned to Ella. “And who is your fr—”

A five-pupiled eye flashed through Ella’s mind, the memory of an age of hatred falling upon her shoulders, the sandy battleground at Nylthnash Rock strewn with the steaming dead, the flesh of those not boiled alive frozen like—

“Ella?” She jumped at Meline’s touch on her shoulder. Judging by her and Art’s concerned looks, she had been elsewhere for a while.

Ella took a deep breath. Ingrid’s eyes were a piercing blue, not gold, and there was no magic behind them. Her eyes each had only four pupils. “I’m sorry,” she said, handing the knife she had been examining back to Art. “Dragons have occasionally wandered onto Fey.”

“Killing and stealing what they could?” Art asked. Ella nodded.

Ingrid’s snort evoked numerous unpleasant emotions. “Is good to know they are consistent, and have been since most ancient writings.”

Art refilled their cups. “I set foot on other worlds thrice before. Each time, I think your worlds less dangerous than Nidd. Dragons are worst, wyverns and drakes plenty vicious—no offense, dumpling—”

“—None taken, handsome—”

“—Wyrms cause problems, when they leave the Underneath. Sea wyrms not so bad; we give them baubles," he gestured to the silver shields, “they leave our fishing vessels in peace. And lung are kindly.”

Ella leaned back. “So this is where all dragonkin come from?”

Art and Meline both stared at her. “Yes,” Art said, “but we are rare on Gaea, correct?”

Ella nodded. “I saw a lung once, long ago.” She sipped her water. “It danced on the clouds, even though it had no wings. And it conjured rainclouds as it danced, weaving in the sky like a glittering ribbon.”

She met Art and Ingrid’s eyes. “They’re so different from dragons, I never made the connection before.”

Ingrid shrugged. “Understandable. Take away long bodies and scaly hides and could not be more different.” She looked at her own scaly hide. “But kin we are.”

Ella did not ask which drakles and wyverns were closer to, dragon or lung. Maybe they didn’t know.

***

“I’m sorry.”

Ella glanced at Meline. Her tone of voice matched her drooping ears; they had done so a few times that night, when the pair were turned away from a shop Ella had wanted to visit. Ella wished Meline’s cheeks were bare, but she did look a few tints of blue. “Whatever for?”

Meline glanced up at her. “Tonight was supposed to be a lovely time for you, and you had to remember something horrible from your past.”

Ella gave Meline’s elbow a squeeze. “You couldn’t have known I’d encountered a dragon. They don’t wander onto Fey often.” She looked up at the stars.

“Still…” Meline’s head flopped against Ella’s shoulder. Ella took one finger, poked the side of Meline’s head, and propped it up. When it started to fall over again, Ella leaned with it, so they both almost fell over. A weak smile turned up the corners of Meline’s mouth.

“I promise those days are hardly more than a shadow on an otherwise fulfilling life.” Music started playing down the street. “And I’ve been having a lovely time.” Ella swept her arm up and around, offering her hand to Meline. “Care to dance?” Colour swirled about the edges of Meline’s cheeks too quick for Ella to make out. Meline took the offered hand, and Ella settled her other on Meline’s waist.

They danced as fey and drakles and creatures strolled by. Ella was confident Meline could dance better than her, by the way she pranced over the cobbles. Or maybe she had heard this exotic tune before.

A few others joined in, and then a few more. Soon the whole street was full of dancing and laughter. The light of the stars and fireflies glittered in the jewels in Meline’s hair.

The song eventually ended. The crowd clapped and cheered, and tossed coins and shells to the band. Ella and Meline both made sure a few found their way into the hat of the drakle who had so skillfully played the lute.

“There’s one last place I’d like to show you.” The colours Ella could see on Meline’s face were such a swirl Ella could not decipher them.

“Lead on,” Ella said.

The path they took turned and twisted through the streets. They were back along the waterfront. There were fewer ships here, but more boats. Taverns and pubs crowded the way, as did their boisterous patrons. Sea shanties tumbled over the waves like their singers over stools.

“Are we going to a bar?”

Meline gave her a baffled look. “Oh. No, my favourite bookshop’s just up the way. It has some books I thought you might like.”

“It’s in the middle of all this?”

“The shop was here long before the taverns.”

“Does it have any history books?”

“Of course.”

Ella raised her eyebrows. “Geography?”

“At least one whole shelf of atlases.”

Ella hardly dared to hope. “Any p… poetry?”

“It wouldn’t be a bookshop if it didn’t.”

Ella suppressed a squeal. “Let’s go!”

There was indeed a shop of blue-grey stone with a slate roof a block from the water. Ella suspected the architect of a certain quirkiness, as the building was in the shape of a tower with four floors like pails stacked one atop the other. And every single window was dark.

Meline snapped her fingers and spun around. “Mr. Oldview’s usually grabbing lunch about now. He’s usually at… the Wobbly Swallow? It’s back the way we came.”

Ella was having a hard time keeping up with her. “Should we bother him while he’s eating?”

“He’s never minded before,” Meline said. “For a fellow bookworm, he’d honk the Fey Queen’s nose.” Ella recalled her history with Fey Queens and decided, on average, that honking one’s nose entailed a valour bordering on madness. A friend from one’s youth might get away with it, though.

They arrived outside a tavern with a sign depicting a swallow flying maneuvers which could generously be described as loops. It was one of the louder establishments on the waterfront.

“Would you like to wait out here?” Meline said. “I should only be a minute.”

“I’ll be along the wharf.” As Meline stepped inside, Ella walked out onto the docks. A four-masted ship was anchored at the end of the pier.

The harbour was actually a strait, separating one island from the other. Ella found the two moons in the sky just then—both red—off-putting, and there was more purple in the sky than she was used to. The moonbeams were strange too. Nidd had four moons, apparently, and each made beams different from Fey and Gaea’s moons and from Nidd’s other moons as well. But the seashore had the same hush, the waves the same comforting rhythm as they splashed against stone. Even the shanties added to the quiet, rising and falling on the tide.

“Can we help ya dere, b’y?” Ella turned around. A quartet of sailors were rolling up the dock toward her.

“Just taking the night air,” Ella said.

“Ah, well, noo,” the speaker, a squat muskrat with a red vest and a headband tying back his thick fur, “This ‘ere’s our ship, an’ we don’ take kindly t’ any ol’ fool gittin’ too near ’n’ dear wi’ her, see?” His fellow sailors, a drakle, a squirrel, and a rat, were all chuckles.

Ella raised her hands. “Shall I find another pier, then?”

“Aye, be off wi’ ye,” the muskrat said, swaggering more with every word for no particular reason. Ella was almost past them when the squirrel spoke. “Wait.”

Ella stopped, and turned around. “Do you need something?”

“Fer all we know, you coulda been aboard aready and swiped awr swag.” She puffed up. “We just made port, see, an’ haven’t unloaded at market yet.”

“Do you not lock up your hold?” Ella looked from one to another. “Or keep a sentry on the boat to guard your valuables?”

They went a bit slack-jawed as Ella posed these complicated questions. The drakle said something in a violent-sounding tongue.

“I think Cap’n does lock the lower hold when we tuck in. Yer right, Scrafty,” the rat said. She sounded the soberest of the four.

“I’ll tell you what, then,” Ella said, taking a seat on a coil of rope. “How about I sit here with three of you, and the fourth checks the hold and makes sure nothing’s been taken?”

“Oi’ll go,” the muskrat said, fixing Ella with a beady black eye. He swaggered up the gangplank. There was a click, and a thunk of wood on wood, a muffled curse, and the sound of claws clicking on stairs fading into the ship.

“How long have you all been sailing together?” Ella asked.

“’Bout six months, now,” the rat said. Ella was fairly sure the caution in her manner was due more to Ella being a stranger than anything.

“Shh!” the squirrel said. “This ‘un might be a thief, Shara. She’s a metal fairy, after all.”

Ella decided not to take offense. “Shara? That’s much like my mother’s name, may she smile down upon me.” She turned back to the squirrel. “Do metal fairies have a reputation?”

The squirrel shrugged, even as Shara looked vaguely mollified. “Metal dra’kin like metal. Stands t’ reason metal fairies’d like it too. ‘m I wrong?”

“We do,” Ella said. “We usually like to work metal, though.” She looked at Scrafty. “Do you know Artur Bronzemonger? I just met him tonight, and I dare say he might be better than I am.”

“You know Bronzemonger?” Shara said. The respect in her voice bordered on reverence.

“As does half of Nidd,” the squirrel said, “You’ll have to do better than—”

“Kelly, yer lamp!” the muskrat thundered down the gangplank, almost falling as he came. “Yer lamp’s nicked!”

Ella sighed under her breath. She gathered her legs under her ever so slightly as the group turned to her.

“That lamp,” Kelly said, running a hand through her bushy tail, “was willed me by my late great aunt. It was bronze, with a gorgeous niello and onyx inlay, and I dare say would fetch a fine price.”

“You may search my things to your heart’s content,” Ella said, “but you won’t find your lamp on me.”

“Lads,” Shara said, “when was the last time you heard of anyone callin’ a fairy a thief and things goin’ well fer ‘em?”

“Shut it!” the muskrat said, smacking one fist into the other. “Oi been spoilin fer a jaw-knocker all night, an’ Oi ain’ afraid ah no greedy fairy!”

No knives, Ella thought to herself as she rose. At least not yet. Kicking the coil of rope at them and running might be her best move.

The dock lit up like a green beacon.

“What is going on here?” Ella lifted her eyes, and thought she saw a dozen fireflies clustered together. They sounded an awful lot like Meline. As she came closer, the bright green lights turned out to be the gems in her hair. There was also one in her hand. The four sailors stepped out from between the two fairies.

“Ah, Ella,” she said, relief plain on her face. “I wondered where you’d gotten to.”

“Just enjoying the night, Meline. Did you find—”

“M-Me-Me-Meline?” The muskrat’s voice rose a few octaves.

“Of Wild Rose, yes,” Meline said. Was her voice a shade sweeter than normal?

“Oh! How about that, lads!” Shara had a foot on the gangplank, “the Wild Rose!”

Ella believed, under their fur and scales, they had all blanched. The muskrat, all too eager to get as far from Meline as he could, backpedalled and flopped over the coil of ropes. Meline’s gems flashed like lightning. As he thumped against the ropes, there was a second thump as something flew out of the muskrat’s vest and struck the pier.

Meline stepped forward. No one else moved; none of the sailors so much as breathed. Meline walked past the muskrat, and picked up the fallen object. She stood, regarding it for a moment. Then she turned around.

“This is a beautiful lamp,” she said. Her voice was definitely sweeter. “The niello stands out so vividly against the bronze, and… is this onyx?”

Four heads, Ella’s included, looked at the lamp, and then the muskrat. He looked like he wanted to gulp, but just could not summon the courage.

She set the lamp in the muskrat’s hand. “You should take better care of your things. This deserves a special place in your cabin, not a dirty pocket. Wouldn’t you say?”

The muskrat nodded so vigorously his neck cracked.

“I was just going to finish a quiet evening with my guest,” she patted him on the shoulder, “so if you’ll excuse us, we must be going.” She rose, curtsied more prettily than Ella had yet seen, and walked back up the pier. She stopped to give Ella her arm and a most coquettish smile.

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long,” Meline said as they passed the door to the Wobbly Swallow. The last of the glow was fading from her gems. “Mr. Oldview’s at the shop opening up for us.”

“Oh, that’s nice of him.” Upon closer inspection, Ella thought she saw patches of white and red through the make-up. “Meline—”

“Stories get blown out of proportion sometimes, and I guess they know a few about me.” She grinned. “I’ll tell you what they’ve probably heard when you’re older.”

Ella laughed.

***

It had been a while since Ella had bought so many books: two atlases of Nidd, a bestiary, a primer on Draconic with companion Fey- Draconic dictionary, and volumes 1, 2, and 3 of a Fey translation of Coalheap’s Compendium of Niddling Poetics. She was unapologetically skipping back up the mountain.

“So,” Meline said as they crested the slope—she had several volumes of… humans called them… comic books?— “did you enjoy yourself?”

“Immensely,” Ella replied. “I shall have to visit Art a few times. Maybe trade secrets with him.”

Meline chuckled. “Glad I could make that connection.”

Ella sensed a different quality to the quiet between them as they passed through the undergrowth.

“Enjoy your visit?” Jasper said as they approached the stone. Meline nodded.

“It’s a whole new world out there,” Ella said with a smile.

“Never heard that one before,” Jasper said. The fly tied to his wrist buzzed about them, then settled back down. “Seems all’s in order. If you’ll step on the platform.”

Once again Jasper tapped the platform with his staff, it blazed with light, Ella felt weightless, and then she was back on the ground.

The air smelled of long grass and earth. There was no salt in the air. And the sky was its familiar blue.

“We’re home.” Meline sounded almost disappointed.

Ella fell in step beside her. “Are you alright?” she asked as they walked out from among the cairns.

“Oh. Yeah,” Meline looked toward her house, and then to the yard. “I suppose we’re even now.” She curtsied; even that was lacklustre, and Ella swore her ears were a mild shade of blue.

Ella thought a moment. “You know, I don’t believe ‘even’ is the right word.” Meline looked up. “I think we’re friends.” The transformation in Meline’s entire character powerfully reminded Ella that she hadn’t stopped to watch a flower bloom in millennia. “Let’s get together again sometime soon.”

The yellow showed even through Meline’s makeup; she looked at the ground. “Y-yes.” She curtsied again, this one as sprightly as her previous had been morose. “Of course. That’d be nice. Well,” she fidgeted with one of her gems, “until we meet again.”

Ella was about to step forward, but Meline already had her hand, kissed it, and was spinning away.

“… Until we meet again.”

---

If you liked this, you can also read this post and the rest of The Fairy Tales of Ella and Meline that has been published to date over on my patreon. If you like what you read, consider becoming a patron, supporting me on ko-fi, or even just liking and reblogging.

Thank you, and take care!

#my writing #my ocs #three legacies of magic #tlom #the fairy tales of ella and meline no. 2 #tftem #oak and stone #lgbtqia+#IT'S HERE!!!!!!!#MY LESBIANS ARE BACK AND ON THEIR FIRST DATE*!!!!!!!#*only one of them thinks of it as a date though

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ellaofoakhill · 3 years ago

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Reblog if you re-wrote or are re-writing one of your protagonists/major characters, on the grounds that--I can think of no better way to put this-- your story needs more himbo. Also, if you want, include your story, protagonist’s name, and a brief summary of who they were before you nudged them a little further to the right on the himbo spectrum.

I’ll go first:

Lord Ella of Oakhill is a beefcake and a kind soul, and while she is intelligent, and even wise, I’m in the process of giving her difficulty in reading people, on the grounds that both a) it fits with her fairly reclusive personality, b) it gives her more depth as a character, and c) it makes her at least 30% funnier, esp. when her student, Havel, usually gets a far better read on people.

#writeblr #writer's challenge #himbos #tftem #tbc ella's still not what I would call a himbo #I'm just edging her a little closer to that character archetype

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ellaofoakhill · 4 years ago

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The Wild Rose, Part Three

Meline was quiet when she came the next day. Ella asked how she was, how her walk had been, what she’d had for breakfast, even if the innkeeper had stopped clutching his chest when she walked in. Her answers were nearly monosyllabic. She wasn’t sad or disappointed, as far as Ella could tell.

“Can I pour you some tea?” Ella said as Meline sat at the kitchen table.

“Please,” Meline said. It was sage and rosehip, with a drop of honey.

They sat in silence. Meline was doing everything in her power to avoid Ella’s eye, short of throwing on her deep-black mantle. “So…” Ella said, deciding she should start the conversation, “you wanted to discuss a few things before moving in.”

“Y-yes,” Meline said. She turned her tea cup around and around in her hands. She sighed. “First… I—um—I’ve been an independent fairy for over ten thousand years. And I’d… like to stay that way.”

Ella cocked her head. “How do you mean?”

“We’re not—” Meline’s walnut skin darkened, “we’re not married, and we haven’t really talked about it. And maybe you don’t need help keeping Oakhill running, or bringing in trade, but I—I’d like to help, as…as a roommate, I guess, and as a witch.”

“Ah,” Ella said. She leaned forward. “You want to help with the estate, and to continue practicing as a witch. I have that right?” Meline nodded. “Of course. What accommodations will you need?”

“That was going to be my next point,” Meline said. “Besides a bedroom, I’ll need a storeroom for herbs and ingredients.” She gave the wryest of smiles. “Maybe two, one for my… potent ingredients, and one for the rest. I’d just as soon not damage Oakhill with another explosion.”

“Well, Oakhill is a good deal sturdier than a wild rose,” Ella said, “so even if there is another accident, you’re not likely to bring the tree down.”

“That’s good,” Meline said, “It’s widely considered rude to blow up someone’s house.”

“At least in high society.”

“Anyway,” Meline said, “if possible, I’d also like a separate work room.” She looked around her. “Some of my draughts and elixirs can be dangerous, and shouldn’t be made or kept

where food is prepared. I was really fastidious with my cleaning at Wild Rose, but I was also the only one living there.”

Ella nodded. “I have a few rooms in the lower north wing that’d be perfect,” she said. “One even shares the pipes coming up to the kitchen here. We could install a sink, so you can wash up your tools and things.”

“Lovely,” Meline said. She started running a hand through her hair. “There is… one more thing.”

Ella had a feeling this was the crux of Meline’s nerves. “What is it?” Meline twirled her hair around one finger and tugged it out straight again. Ella sighed, reached across the table, and took her hand. “Meline.” When she made eye contact, Ella spoke. “If this thing isn’t a problem between us now, it likely will be down the line. We can grapple with it now, but we can’t do that if you don’t tell me what it is.”

Meline took a deep breath. “It’s Thamnophis.”

Ella furrowed her brow. “The snake?... Oh. She did try to eat you, didn’t she?”

“Hard to forget,” Meline said, “and as I mean to gather my own herbs, there’s a very good chance I’ll encounter her again.”

Ella rubbed her chin. “Well, I have good news, and possibly-bad news. The good news is Thamnophis died four years ago.” She raised her eyebrows. “Try not to look too relieved.”

“What’s the other news?” Meline asked, looking very relieved.

“Nasicus moved in shortly after Tham died.”

“Nasicus?”

“A hognose she-snake,” Ella said.

“That’s even worse!”

“They’re smaller!”

“They’re also fairy-eaters!” Meline banged her head against the table. She sighed. “Are there any other dangerous creatures here?”

Ella shook her head. “The people have a cat who leaves the house every now and again, but she’ll leave us be. Other than that, most creatures are civilized, and want fairies to not get eaten.”

“So I only have a hognose to worry about.” Meline sighed. “I know, there are dangerous creatures all through these lands, spiders and snakes and salamanders, and a few twisted beasts the people know nothing about. But can we do anything to ensure this one never eats a fairy?”

Ella regarded her tea for a moment. A thousand little things she’d noticed over the years made sense now. Every time Meline had a relieved look on her face when Ella went out to meet her. Every time she’d jumped when they went for a walk across the lawn. Every time she clutched Ella’s hand just a bit tighter than affection explained. Meline didn’t feel safe here, and it was well past time Ella did something about it.

She set her tea down. “I will bind Nasicus.”

Meline leaned back in her seat. “What?”

Ella shrugged. “Nasicus lives on land under my charge, and she knew I held Oakhill when she came here. As the lord of Oakhill, I am within my rights to bind any creature on my land who may threaten a fey subject.” She hesitated. “It would entail us formalizing your living here beforehand, though.”

“So I’ll be one of your subjects, then?” Ella breathed a sigh of relief; playful Meline was back for the first time that night.

“In name only,” Ella said. “I know far better than to believe I’ve any power over you, Meline.”

“So,” Meline hopped out of her chair, “when can we do this?”

Ella’s eyebrows shot up. “You want to do it now?”

“Yes!” Meline twirled on the spot. She whispered, “The owner of the Green Weevil said I have to be out tomorrow, or I’ll have to make another payment.”

Ella laughed. “We’ll need to gather three witnesses, then.”

In the end, Coarser, Evelyn, and Vedris served as their witnesses; Havel wouldn’t be of age for over three hundred years. The swearing had been simple, held on the shore of the pond; it was quicker for Ella and Meline to take Coarser back and forth. Evelyn had presided.

Lord Ella of Oakhill, do you swear to protect Meline as your own kin?

I do.

Do you swear to hear her voice in your counsels, and to regard it with the utmost gravity?

I do.

Do you swear, with every choice affecting your holdings, to hold her welfare above any personal benefit to you?

I do.

What do you swear by?

I swear by the marrow in my bones, by the magic in my blood, and by the beating of my heart.

Evelyn had nodded. Vedris—who wrote out the contract because Coarser lacked thumbs—nodded. Coarser nickered his assent. Evelyn turned to Meline.

Meline the Wild Rose, do you own Lord Ella of Oakhill as your landlord?

I do.

Do you swear to abide by her decisions as landlord, provided they endanger neither you nor yours?

I do.

Do you swear to breach no confidence she places in you of her lordly duties, save only to authorities greater than her?

I do.

What do you own and swear by?

Meline had met Ella’s eye, then. She knew Ella cared for her, but there had been a corner of her heart that wondered what she would do, how she would choose to handle this danger. Meline had long ago learned that if someone didn’t do everything they could to keep you safe, they didn’t love you.

And Ella had chosen to bring a serpent to heel.

I own and swear by the marrow in my bones, by the magic in my blood, and by the beating of my heart.

Evelyn nodded, and turned to Vedris and Coarser, who also nodded.

We witnesses hear your oaths, and by our hearing bind them. We recognize you as tenant and landlord. Set your words to these oaths, and be bound, and by these oaths bring forth greater goodness in this land than either could alone.

Ella spoke three words of power, which sealed themselves to the contract. Meline also spoke three words. And the contract was sealed.

“Now,” Ella said, looking up at the moon, “let’s go bind a snake.”

#the fairy tales of ella and meline #tftem #the wild rose #part 3 #chapter 17 #all ages #backyard fantasy #fae #fey #fairies #fairy tales #family #healing #iyashikei #lgbtq+#magic #romance #strong female protagonists #women

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ellaofoakhill · 4 years ago

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Celia, Part Four

“Are you sure you don’t need our help?” Selva said, eyes glued to the forge. The torc sat ready, and the fire was lit.

Ella shook her head. “You’ve helped aplenty. This last part is mine. And Havel can work the bellows this time around.” She smiled, tousling Selva’s helmet-hair. “I want you to watch.” She looked to Havel. “One-and-a-half time!”

Havel slapped his hands against his chest, and set off at a slow jog. The bellows lurched into motion, their whoosh a rock-steady tempo. The drumbeat by which Ella would keep time.

She raised both hands toward the forge, eyes only for the torc. And she began to sing. The shapeless song of shaping. Her teacher had taught her this long ago, this subtle world-music, so deep no word had power over it. It would give shape to the love that had grown in Ella’s heart for nineteen years.

The world moved to her voice, a small, raspy, wonderful ripple, whose echoes filled the shop of Oakhill. Though her eyes rested on the torc, a bright glow against the light of the forge, Ella saw the mole between Meline’s right eye and her nose. She smelled the burnished warmth of Meline’s hair, felt its smooth rub against her face. Ella saw the mischief that glittered in Meline’s eyes, the pale scars on her hands and forearms from a past that, though Ella did not know it, had shaped the woman she wanted to share the rest of her life with. She saw Meline’s anger, her impatience, even her worry. And accepted them, loved them.

A second voice joined hers. Small, high, and quavering, fragile and nervous, like a hind on the edge of the grove, fearful of the wolf, hopeful of the light and the pool and the sweet, fresh grass. Ella’s heart crinkled in her chest.

When they had sung together, a dance of hearts given voice, and it was time to end, as all things must and thenceforth live in soul and memory, Ella held up one hand for Havel to stop, laying the other on Selva’s shoulder. The shop echoed to the song, which soaked into its white-washed bricks.

When the forge was cool, Ella took the torc in reverent hands. The back was shaped like two tiny frogs, with clasping arms and legs. From them spread oak leaves like feathers, and four acorn cupules. In front, where Meline’s collarbones would sit, the leaves became hands, clasping each other in a chain of kindness. At the ends were two pairs of hands. The fingers of the pair closer to the throat were curled into hooks. The other pair were cupped.

“The marvels of the deepest mind…” Ella murmured to herself.

“What, Elmum?” Selva tugged on her trousers.

Ella knelt, torc in one hand, and crushed the other about Selva’s shoulders. She planted a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you. This torc wouldn’t be this beautiful without your help, Selv.”

Selva almost turned purple, she blushed so hard. Ella laughed. “And thank you too, Havel,” she said as he disengaged the treadmill and came to have a look. “You’ve come a long way since you started with me… three hundred years ago?”

“Two hundred and eighty-seven, Master,” he said, glowing with praise.

“And now,” Ella held up the torc, “we add the finishing touches.” She walked over to the workbench, and set the torc on a clean cloth. She took a small black case and unlatched it, revealing nine sunstones.

“What I mostly meant, Selva,” she said as she plucked a stone from the case, “was that the thought did not enter my waking mind to make the sockets of this torc fit the stones I’d selected.” She set one of two stones the size of the last joint of her thumb in the belly of one of the frogs. Selva jumped as its arms and legs curled up, tightly clasping the jewel. “But nevertheless…” The other little frog did likewise. The four cupules moved much less dramatically, but they did firmly close about the stones set in them.

“This is like the bells and the guardians!” Selva said.

“Precisely!” Ella said, as she set one sunstone each in the two cupped hands at the torc’s throat. “Because I’m a metal fairy, I can breathe a semblance of life into the metal I work.” She smiled as the sunstones caught and scattered the light of the sunbeam gold. Ella noticed the pinky finger of the left cupped hand curled out at an odd angle. Her right eyelid twitched. Maybe Meline won’t notice…?

“‘It is less to give a mountain of gold and rubies, and an ocean of profound wisdom, than a single drop of your own heart’s blood.’” Ella took a green velvet case off the shelf beside the workbench, unlatched it, and set the torc on the black silk lining inside.

“Master?”

Ella reached up and clasped Havel’s shoulder. She touched one finger to his chest. “Give from here.” A thought occurred to Ella. “Right! I had a plan! Selva!”

“Yup!” She bounced as her name was spoken.

“Meline will ask what you helped me with in the shop today.” She pulled another, smaller case from the shelf. “So that we keep the torc a surprise, I want you to say that we made this.”

She unlatched it and pulled out a bracelet of three braided bands. One was copper, one was silver, and one was gold. They had little mouse heads at each end.

“Ooh, that’s pretty too,” Selva said as Ella held it up. Her eyes got very large as Ella held it out to her.

“I made it for you, Selv.”

Selva looked at her, then back to the bracelet. Her curious little hands reached out and took it with shy tenderness.

“You’re the only one who can take that bracelet from your wrist,” Ella said, “and you’re the only one who can put it on. Even I couldn’t take it away.” She leaned forward, a warm smile on her face. “Would you like to put it on?”

Selva looked at it for a moment. She pressed the two ends to her wrist. The bracelet seemed to melt around her skin. The mouse heads opened their mouths and closed them, interlocking their teeth. Selva made to hook one finger under the metal, and the bracelet came off just as easily. She put it back on, and held it tight to her chest. She stepped forward and kissed Ella on the cheek.

Meline made much of Selva’s new bracelet. As Selva waxed eloquent about the smelter and the forge and the treadmill and how she used her fire, Meline shared a look with Ella. There was nothing but kindness there… well, perhaps a glint of mischief.

She’d outlined her ideas with Sali and Arthur, and they were already working on concepts. What discussion she’d heard sounded promising. And Ella had no idea…

“So how was Oak and Stone?” Ella said once Selva started eating. “You were meeting a friend?”

“Oh yeah,” Meline said. Just thinking about it made her tired, but happy. “A friend of mine from the old days. I’ll introduce you sometime.”

Ella arched her eyebrows. “I’d like to meet her.”

Meline smiled. “I’ll line something up soon.”

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ellaofoakhill · 4 years ago

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The Fairy Tales of Ella and Meline: Frog Legs Soup, Part One

One evening, after the moon had risen, Meline went out to get water from the pond. She took a thimble bucket, and her mantle of deep-black, and her willow staff. She yawned, because the moon was just out. She heard the lowing of cows.

The pond was quiet. The frogs had sung in spring, so all Meline could hear were the night sounds: a dog barking far off, the gnats in buzzing clouds, and moth and bat flitting over the water. The smell of grass and hay and the world breathing put a smile on her face.

As she drew her water, Meline saw a stirring far from shore. She raised her staff, and spoke a word of power. The emerald drop in her staff glowed, as did the sand at the edge of the pond. Meline took a handful of sand, and tossed it at the ripples. As the sand fell through the water, Meline saw a tadpole in the light it cast.

She huddled down at the water’s edge, and the tadpole came to the strand. And then another. And another. And one more. And one more. Until the shallows around Meline were fluttering with tadpoles.

“Hello, Tadpole.”

“Hello.”

Meline greeted each of the tadpoles. She saw, in the way their little tails flipped, and their eyes blinked, that something troubled them.

“Have the water fairies been treating you well?”

“Yes, the algae and water plants are delicious.”

“Then why are you sad?”

The tadpoles blew bubbles, and the water stirred as their tails wriggled. “We wanna be frogs. But we don’t know how.”

Meline tilted her head. “Where is your dad? He could tell you.”

The water exploded as tadpoles jumped. “He’s gone!”

Meline waved her hand, and a wall of sand kept the water from striking her. “Where did he go?”

“We don’t know!”

“Did you ask the water fairies?”

“They just said he left, and now we have no dad!”

Meline put her head in her hand. Some fairies, honestly! And what kind of frog left his tadpoles all alone?

Meline heaved a sigh. “Okay, little tadpoles. I don’t know how to turn you into frogs, but—” she waited until the tadpoles finished crying, “— I will find someone who does. Be brave in your pond, and I will be back soon.”

Meline collected herself. She walked down the beach and found a stone that jutted out into the water. She walked out to its tip, knelt at the water’s edge, cupped her hands so they just touched the surface of the pond, and spoke the word that called a water fairy.

The water boiled, and a tall, thin fairy with frosty hair and a nose which could turn no higher appeared.

“You summoned me… Oh, Meline.”

Meline took a deep breath. “Is Evelyn there, Vedris? I was hoping she could help me with something.”

“Indeed?” His eyebrow quirked, a rare show of feeling. “Perhaps I could be of some assistance?”

Meline’s smile grew sweeter than a strawberry. “Could you sit three hundred tadpoles for me until I get back? Their—”

“Fetching Evelyn!” He was gone. Meline almost rolled her eyes.

“My dear husband is many things,” Evelyn said as she rose from the water, “but he is terrified of children.”

Meline tilted her head. “He raised five.”

“Other children. Ever since he almost put out little Cedric’s eye with his sabre, he’s stark terrified he’ll hurt them. Anyway, what’s this about tadpoles?”

“Their father ran out on them,” Meline said. Evelyn looked as appalled as she felt. “I’m off to see Old Toad; perhaps he knows how to help.”

“Hmm, yes,” Evelyn straightened her spectacles. “He loves children not at all.”

“I’ll be sure to get him a fly,” Meline said. “And you’ll—”

“watch the tadpoles.” Evelyn smiled. “We both will. Though Vedris will likely watch from a distance.” She dipped partway back into the water, the hem of her dress merging with the surface. “Oh, could you wait just a moment? I’ve a wild strawberry tart you’ll love if you haven’t eaten yet.”

“Oh, thank you!” Meline bowed.

Meline munched the tart as she walked. Old Toad’s den was on the far side of the pond, on the edge of the poplars. Meline couldn’t imagine living in view of the fence, with its iron wire and barbs. She was glad her door faced away from it. The moss was soft under foot here, though the spring damp was long past. Meline tapped with her staff, making sure the moss wasn’t hiding any sinkholes.

Old Toad’s bower was large but simple, strands of slough grass woven together. It kept the worst of the rain off; toads, after all, like the damp, not the wet.

Meline spoke a word of power, and felt her voice carry through the ground. “Theo, are you here?”

A rumbling croak sounded from the bower. A squat shape rose up, and Old Toad trundled to his door. “I’m afraid you’ve come at a bad time, Meline,” he said. “I’ve a most unsightly wart.”

“Have you?” Which one? she thought. “Would you like a salve for it?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble. I am dismayed whenever I look in the puddle.”

“I’m afraid it will have to wait, though.” She lowered her voice. “Could I have your advice?”

Theo blinked as only a toad can. “Ask and I will answer, if I can.”

“How does a tadpole become a frog?”

Theo raised himself up. “That is a secret of toads and frogs, Meline!”

Meline raised her hands. “I thought it might be. I ask for the tadpoles at the west end of the pond.”

“Their father can tell them, surely?”

Meline sighed. “He left them.”

“Ah.” Theo cleared his throat. “Shameful behaviour, indeed.” He stood aside. “You’d best come in, then.”

A few fireflies lit the bower. The kitchen was simple, but well-kept, with a passage down to what Meline suspected was Theo’s bedroom. The sitting room in the back, the walls packed with shelves, the shelves with curiosities and books covered in wax.

Theo pulled a volume off the shelf nearest his desk. “‘Old Frogger’s Almanac’, first edition.” He sat at his desk, pulling out a toadstool for Meline, and set a pair of spectacles on his broad nose. “Can I interest you in some cider?”

“Please.” He pulled out a bottle and tumbler. It was spiced differently than Meline was used to. But then, Theo did like to tinker.

“Fortunately, Frogger knew his way around an index,” he said, opening the volume, “and a table of contents. Now if I recall…” He chirped, and one of the fireflies flew closer. He tossed it a sweetmeat from a jar on his desk. “Hmm… ‘Fiddling with Cricket Legs’, no… ‘Fishing for Mosquito Larvae’ … how he was even allowed to publish that article in the first place I’ve no idea… ‘Growing a Green Moss Carpet’… Ah! Here we are.”

Meline slid her stool closer. Theo turned the book to her. She furrowed her brow.

“This is a fairy potion.” She read. It had been a while since she’d looked at the Old Frog script. “‘The Frog Legs Soup’.”

“How did… how did Frogger get a hold of a Fey potion recipe?”

Meline shook her head. “Fairy, not Fey. It certainly isn’t against the law for a frog to know this recipe, but lots of us still hold our secrets… well, secret. Any—Titania’s Mirror!”

“What!” Theo jumped so high he almost hit his own roof.

“This is decidedly not a Fey potion, I’d bet my name on it!”

“Careful, child,” Theo said, wringing his hands. “I know better than most the value of a fairy name.”

Meline took a breath. “Theophrastus, no Fey potion has ever had iron powder in it. It is absolutely against the Fey Queen’s Law. A fairy potion is another matter. Iron’s dangerous, but on this side, a few fairies have experimented with it. We don’t advertise the fact, though.”

Theo nodded. “Do you know where to get iron powder?”

Meline chuckled, taking a blank sheet from the desk and copying the recipe. “I wouldn’t ask any fairy besides me, Theo. Might as well ask if we’re either suicidal or murderous. Anyway, no. Only a metal fairy can handle iron with bare skin.” She stopped, absorbing the tone of Theo’s question. “Do you know someone?”

He nodded. “I’ve heard of a metal fairy by the house. Ella of Oakhill?” Meline shrugged. “She’s some lord over that way. My cousin didn’t say much about her, when she was over, just that she’s a bit odd. Even among fairies,” he said, as Meline opened her mouth to offer a retort.

Meline turned in a circle, then shook her head. “No, not ringing any bells.” She looked up at Theo’s clock. “I’d best get going, then, if I’m to make it there before sunrise.”

“You’re going now?”

“Of course. I’ll run home and pack, and see Evelyn on my way.” As she strode to the door she called back, “I’ll have a honeyed bee’s wing for you!”

#The Fairy Tales of Ella and Meline #tftem #chapter one #frog legs soup #my original work #fantasy #fairies #lgbtq+#iyashikei #fairy tales #romance #all ages #fey #magic #family #strong female protagonists #backyard fantasy #is it called backyard fantasy? I'm gonna call it backyard fantasy

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ellaofoakhill · 4 years ago

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Frog Legs Soup, Part Three

Meline woke to the sound of scratching, and the rhythmic creak of wood. The tittering of birds came from nearby. Her pillow was softer than usual, the sheets smelled of lavender with just a pinch of sage. It was a while before she opened her eyes.

She raised herself up on her hands. There were four wide windows, letting in sunlight gentled by oak leaf green. The room was spare, with a folding closet door at one end, and a sturdy oak door at the other. The scratching came from a quill as it swept across paper, deftly wielded by a fairy whose type Meline couldn’t immediately discern. Her blonde hair was tied back in a French braid, and her expression was one of calm contentment.

She looked up when Meline rose. “There’s tea on, if you’d like,” she said. That voice…

“I would, but,” Meline said as the fairy rose, ��could you say ‘Away with you’ in a general’s voice before you go?”

The woman’s eyebrow quirked. “I don’t make a habit of commanding my guests out, but if you insist…” She drew herself up, and her expression twisted into a grim mask, “Away, Tham! Away with you!” She snorted at the look on Meline’s face, crumpling the mask like a sheet of paper. “You’re not from the pasture by the yard. Further northwest, maybe?”

“Due west,” Meline said. “My home isn’t far from the fence on that side.”

The woman’s eyebrows rose. She smiled. “Then you may not have heard of me.” She swept into a deep bow. “Ella of Oakhill, the hall in which you find yourself.” She looked up. “And may I know your names and titles?”

Even though she’d half-expected it, the name came as a bit of a shock. Meline belatedly bowed her head. “M-Meline,” she said, “of Wild Rose.”

“Then allow me a moment to fetch tea and provender, Meline of Wild Rose.” Ella bowed once more, and strode to the door with the steely grace of a cat. Meline heard footsteps descending stairs, and she was alone.

“She is strange even for a fairy, Theo,” Meline said to no one in particular. Her memory came back to her, and she got out of bed, checking herself for scratches. She didn’t think the snake had bitten her, but venom was no laughing matter.

Once assured she was unharmed—a few dressed scrapes, probably from when she fell, but no bites—Meline started to take in the room properly, and realized there was the gentlest swaying of the floor. Was she up in a tree? She went to the windows.

She was up in a tree.

Facing south, each window had thick shutters. The twittering came from a goldfinch’s nest a branch away. The house—Meline’s breath caught in her throat—was disturbingly close. As she looked, the door opened, and a person came out. Meline shrank back.

“They can’t see us.” Meline turned about as Ella stepped into the room with a tray bearing a teapot, two cups, and some toast and jam.

She flushed as her stomach rumbled. “Thank you.”

“The fare’s a bit spartan, I know,” Ella said, “I don’t have many guests.”

“I’m sure it tastes delicious.” Ella had brought up two chairs as well, and she shifted her writing to an alcove in the corner. As they sat, Meline realized Ella was taller than her.

The bread crust was crisp, the inside warm and moist, and the saskatoon jam was indeed delicious. The tea had the familiar taste of rosehips and honey.

“Did you put willow bark in this?” Meline asked as she took a sip.

“It’s mainly rosehips,” Ella said, “but yes. You looked like you’d had a rough night.”

Meline swallowed. “I should explain why I’m here…” Ella held up a hand.

“Finish eating. You are my guest, and under my protection.”

Meline shook her head. “It’s a matter of some urgency, and has waited long enough.” She set down her cup. “I am here to request some iron powder of you.” Ella’s mouth dropped open. Meline tried to ignore that her face was hot. “I assure you I’m not trying to kill anyone!”

Ella’s own face was reddening. “Pay me no mind,” she managed to say, “it was just a bit unexpected.” Meline waited while she recovered. “Now,” Ella cleared her throat, “you were saying?”

“A frog abandoned his tadpoles last night, I need to make a potion so the little ones can grow legs, and a key ingredient is iron powder. Is that enough explanation for you?”

Ella sobered at the mention of abandonment. “That would explain your coming so far.” Ella looked down at her cup. “I have conditions you must agree to before I give you iron.”

“Name them.”

“How about I just describe them?”

Meline took a deep breath. It would be the height of bad manners to shove the wide end of a spoon up her rescuer’s nose. “You mentioned something about not having guests often?”

Ella snorted. “Moving on.” She held up a finger. “First, you must help me make the powder.” Meline blanched. “I have protective equipment. Use it properly, and no harm at all will come to you.”

Meline gulped. “Very well. I agree.”

“Second. While we are making the powder, you must follow my directions to the letter. I am a metal fairy, so iron has no power over me. My directions will keep you safe, and speed the process of making.”

Meline nodded. “I agree.” She would have been happy to stay out of the process entirely, but safety measures were reassuring.

“Third,” Meline thought she saw the ghost of a smile cross Ella’s face, “I will personally escort you home and see how you use it.”

“What!”

“You seem the opposite of murderous, and you certainly don’t seem suicidal. But I met you last night, and have not seen how capable you are.” Her look turned serious again. Her tone wasn’t unkind or condescending, but it had no yield to it. “So, I will escort you home, and I will help you make this potion. That is my third and final condition. Do you accept?”

Meline took a deep breath. The idea of someone overseeing her work in her own home was galling. But her pride was not an ingredient in Frog Legs Soup. “I accept.”

“Good.” Ella looked out the window. “It’s late afternoon now. When would you like to start?”

“This morning.”

Ella smiled. “I have a few things I need to organize in my shop. I’ll escort you to my kitchen, where you can draw yourself a bath in the meantime.”

Meline realized only then she was a good deal dirtier than she liked. “That would be lovely.”

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ellaofoakhill · 4 years ago

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Kindling, Part One

For everyone who’s stuck with this story so far: first off, thank you so much! Just knowing you’re out there appreciating my work means a lot, and can really buoy me up on a bad day!

Second: this chapter introduces one of my favourite characters (simply a delight to write), and marks the first of several small multi-story arcs, and I am REALLY happy with how it turned out; hopefully you are too.

Meline allowed herself the smuggest of grins as she came up the West Earth Shaft; she’d gathered enough deep-black for several mantles. She thought about curing it; cured deep-black was sunbeam-resistant, but it didn’t offer the same level of concealment. She patted her rucksack; there was lots of time to decide what to do with it.

The elevator stopped, and she got out. A short walk down the passage, and she halted. The lid of the shaft was ajar; not how she’d left it. She spoke a word of power, and her staff brightened.

A scuffle came from the alcove beside the opening. Staff across her body, Meline cautiously moved forward. Crickets weren’t dangerous, but their bites hurt like Dramfa.

She jumped around the corner, pointing the lit emerald at the alcove. She almost dropped her staff.

A fairy child was fitfully asleep. Meline propped her staff against the wall and knelt. It was a little girl, maybe two hundred years old, so skinny she was nearly see-through, with a mat of hair all about her. Meline furrowed her brow. The girl’s clothes, though filthy and torn beyond recognition, looked well-made. Touching the child’s tiny hand and forehead felt like brushing against ice.

Meline removed her rucksack, and wrapped the girl in deep-black. The risk of tearing it hardly crossed her mind; deep-black, despite its native shafts and caverns, was quite warm.

Once the child was swaddled, Meline thrust the lid aside, hefted her in both arms, and somehow clambered out of the shaft. It was a cold autumn night, though the wind was dying. As Meline set the rock back in place and picked the girl up, she supposed the chill had forced her into the hole.

Meline whistled for Coarser; the child was lighter than anyone her age should be, but Meline was unused to the weight. Before she’d crossed halfway to Oakhill, Coarser was flying across the grass toward her. “Get Ella,” Meline said, “this child needs food, and shelter from the cold. Hurry!” Coarser sniffed the bundle once, reared, turned about, and was gone toward the hall.

Meline felt the child stir. “It’s alright,” she murmured, hugging the bundle to her chest. “You’re safe now. Soon you’ll be warm and full.” Whether the girl heard her, or was reassured by the contact, she settled back down.

Meline was in the light of the stable door when two figures approached, led by Coarser. Havel’s size gave him away, and Meline would recognize Ella’s stride anywhere. She held out her arms, and Meline passed the child to her. She pulled back a fold of the deep-black even as she turned on the spot and rushed inside, Meline and Havel on her heels.

“She’s cold,” Ella said. She looked to Havel. “Stoke the kitchen fire and gather the blankets from the storeroom in the upper wing. She’s injured too,” Ella said as Havel raced ahead. “Her right eye’s swollen shut. Once we’ve got her warm, we’ll have to check if she has any other wounds.”

“I didn’t see any blood,” Meline said as they passed the front landing, “though the poor thing’s filthy head to toe. If there are any cuts, we’ll have to clean them.”

“I’ll grab my supplies from the infirmary,” Ella said as they mounted the stairs; Meline had to puff a bit. “Could you re-warm the carrot-potato soup? She should have something thick and nourishing, but not too much if she’s starved.”

“Yeah,” Meline said, “and maybe a sip of faerye. It’ll warm her immediately.” Ella nodded. They came to the kitchen, the fire roaring in the hearth. Ella set the child by the fire and went for her supplies. As Meline pulled back the swaddling, Havel came in with blankets piled over his head. “Thank you,” Meline said. “Once I’ve unwrapped the deep-black, could you give it a shake and put it in my storeroom? It needs to cure for several months.”

Havel nodded. “How is she?”

“We’ll know once Ella gets back,” Meline said. “For now, she’s alive, and warming up. If we can get her clean, put some hot food in her, and make sure she’s not seriously hurt, that’ll be a good start.” Havel nodded, then left with the deep-black.

Meline made a bed out of the blankets on the floor, then set the child on it, and threw more blankets on top. She let the fire die down—Havel had built it up too high—then set the pot of soup on.

Meline felt the girl’s hand and forehead again. They seemed warmer. Hopefully she wouldn’t develop a fever.

Ella came in while Meline was stirring the soup, carrying two hefty cases. One held gauze of spider-thread, silk ties, and absorbent fluff of various kinds, along with glass knives, probes, and other instruments. The other held a number of small bottles. Meline examined these; various cleansers and tonics that would give strength to the weak and purge sickened cuts.

Meline turned back to the soup; piping hot. She pulled a small bowl out of the cupboard and was just filling it when she glanced at the makeshift bed. A dark eye blinked at her.

“Hello,” Meline said, kneeling. The child twitched as if resisting the urge to move away. “Are you alright?” After a moment, the child nodded. “Are you hungry?” Another nod. Meline glanced at the cutlery drawer. “I have some soup for you. I’m just going to grab a spoon.”

Meline scooted over, and reached up with one hand while the other grabbed the bowl from the counter. “Can you sit up?”

The child gingerly propped herself up. She caught sight of Ella, and stopped like a rabbit heard a twig snap.

“You have nothing to fear here, child,” Ella said. “You are in my house. And Meline has some soup for you.” She added in a stage whisper. “Between you and me, it’s pretty good.”

The child looked back at Meline, who held out the bowl. “Careful,” Meline said as she took it, “it’s…” the child, after a quick sniff, shoveled soup into her mouth until her cheeks were full to bursting, “…hot.”

But the heat seemed not to bother her. The soup was swiftly gone, and the girl held out the bowl to Meline. Her hopeful expression needed no translation.

“Before you have another bowl,” Ella said, “I’d like to have a look at you.” She knelt on the other side of the makeshift bed.

Havel came back into the kitchen. “The deep-black’s put away, Miss—”

It was lucky the child had eaten so fast. The moment the door opened she dropped the bowl and threw the blankets over herself. A small, ominous feeling crept into Meline’s heart.

“The child just woke up, Havel,” Ella said, turning to face him, “and she might be scared if there are too many of us here. Maybe go down to the forge and work on one of your projects. We’ll call if we need you.”

He bowed. “I’m just a bell away.” He backed out of the room, looking undeservedly sheepish.

Ella turned back to the blankets. She set a hand on top of them. “You can come out.” The blankets stirred. “Havel is a kindly soul. He has three little sisters, and he’s a big teddy bear to all of them.”

Two small hands appeared above the blankets, and pulled them down. The girl sat back up. Ella held a hand to her chest, and made a small, seated bow. “I am Ella,” she said, “and this is Meline. She found you in a mine shaft we have in the yard, and brought you here.” She smiled. “As I said, you’re safe here.”

The child sat still, then turned to Meline and held up the bowl.

Meline chuckled. “Still hungry?” She took the offered bowl.

“I’d like to have a look at you,” Ella said, “before you have more soup. Maybe we could wash you up a little bit? I’d especially like to have a look at that eye.”

The girl held a hand up to her face. Her other eye went wide, and she started trembling like a leaf. The ominous feeling in Meline’s heart grew.

She put a pot on the fire to boil. “Shall I grab the wash basin?” She looked at the girl. “Does a hot bath sound nice?”

The girl looked up at her. She stopped trembling, and nodded. She watched as Meline brought in the copper basin and filled it, adding hearthstones warmed by the fire. They hissed as she dropped them into the basin with a pair of tongs. Soon the water was steaming.

The girl’s clothes were caked with dried mud and bits of moss and grass. Once she felt the water with a tentative hand, she was all too happy to get out of them, though here and there she winced as they got her undressed. Meline noticed she wasn’t breathing very deeply. The child hissed between her teeth when Ella took her arm back to get it out of its sleeve. She shared a glance with Meline at that, but said nothing.

A moan rumbled from the girl’s throat when she eased into the bath. Goose-pimples erupted all over. She settled down until only the top of her head was above the water.

Ella and Meline each took a small copper bowl, and poured water over her head. The girl spluttered and shook herself. Her hair grew darker as the dirt washed away, and while Ella kept pouring, Meline started brushing.

“You have so much hair!” Meline said as she brushed. “And it’s so thick and straight! Ella, look!” she held up a lock she’d teased the moss and seeds out of. “When this is straight, child, it must reach to your knees!”

“Jealous?” Ella said with a quirked eyebrow.

“Only a little,” Meline said, resuming her work.

“When Meline doesn’t put anything in her hair,” Ella stage-whispered again, “it sticks up all over. Ow!” Meline had tugged her braid. Ella was smiling even as she yelped. “I’m going to go bald if you keep pulling my hair!”

Meline eyed her a moment. “You wouldn’t look too bad with a bald head.”

“I like my hair where it is, thank you.” Shortly thereafter, while Meline kept teasing out the girl’s hair, Ella lathered up a bar of soap. The smells of sage and lavender filled the room.

“Can I have your arm?” She held out one hand while the other held the soap. The girl hesitated, then gave her arm into Ella’s care. Soon she was covered in soap bubbles. Ella carefully worked all over her arms and back, then gave the child the bar to scrub her legs. Ella took a warm, soft cloth, and cleaned the girl’s face. She scrunched her nose and resisted, at first. But Ella’s kindly patience won out.

Ella made no sudden noise or movement that Meline noticed, as she finally wrapped the girl’s hair in a towel. But the way Ella carefully wrapped the soap back up, and picked the bowls up off the floor and set them on the counter, gave Meline to know she was reining in a terrible anger.

They got the girl out of the basin, and Meline dried her off as Ella went to dump the water, promising she’d swiftly return.

That was when Meline saw the bruises. The ribs on the girl’s right side were already yellowing, as was the hand-print on her arm, just visible against her creamy skin. But the bruise under her swollen right eye was unmistakably a fist. Meline took a long, long breath. Ella had obviously noticed. There would be time to talk with the child about it.

“Well,” Meline said, “I wish we had a nightgown in your size. Maybe I can stitch a few for you, and ask Havel if he could bring some of his sisters’ old ones. In the meantime, would you like a shirt of mine, or Ella’s? We can wash your clothes in the morning.”

Ella came back with the washbasin.

“Ella’s.”

Ella stopped mid-stride. “Yes?”

Suppressing a smile, Meline turned to Ella. “She’d like one of your shirts to wear to bed.”

“Oh?” She looked to the girl. “Is that right?” The child nodded. “Then I’ll go fetch a few, and you can choose one. Would you like more soup while I get them?” Ella bit her cheek at the girl’s aggressive nod. “Then I’ll be back shortly.”

The girl, wrapped in a blanket, was almost done her bowl when Ella returned. She had four short-sleeved flannel shirts of different colours. “Which would you like?”

After a moment’s thought, the girl pointed at one with a chocolate and cream tartan pattern.

“Excellent choice,” Ella said, setting the others on the back of her chair while she handed the chosen shirt to Meline. It was far too wide in the shoulders, which went almost to her elbows, but it was the right length for a nightgown, at least.

Ella knelt on the floor, and beckoned the girl toward her. The girl grabbed Meline’s hand, but she approached Ella.

“As I said before, child,” Ella said, meeting her eye, “you are welcome here, and you are safe under my protection.” She fidgeted. “I don’t know how you came here, and I don’t know where you came from.” She held up a hand as the girl froze. “I don’t need to know right now. But I need to know three things before you go to sleep.

“First…” Ella gulped, “do you want to go back to where you came from?” Meline’s heart twisted in her chest as the girl shook her head. Ella struggled again. “Is there anyone who loves you who wants you to go back to them?” Meline didn’t try to stop her tears as the child shook her head again.

“Alright.” Ella took a deep breath; it seemed to steady her. “Now, what is your name? If you decide to stay here, I would rather not call you ‘child’ all the time.”

The child gave Meline’s hand a small squeeze. She spoke so quietly Meline heard only a murmuring.

“I’m sorry?” Ella held a hand behind her ear.

“’m Selva,” the girl said.

Ella grinned. Her eyes were shiny. “Well, Selva, shall we get you to bed, then?”

The room Ella picked out for Selva was cozy. The bed had a down comforter, and a thick green and cream quilt. It even had a small lamp on the night table. There was just one problem…

Meline laughed. Selva had a death-grip on Ella’s left hand. In the brief instant Ella managed to prise her hand out of the child’s grasp, Selva got up and followed her out of the room.

“She’s quite attached to you,” Meline said, covering her mouth.

“Whose side are you on?” Ella was trying to loose her pant leg from Selva’s grip. And failing, but judging by her poorly-concealed smile, that wasn’t important.

“I have a thought,” Meline said.

“Is it helpful?”

Meline huffed, and met Selva’s eye. “This is what I live with. Are you sure you want to stay?”

“Yeah.” Selva’s nod, and her grip, were firm as bedrock.

“What’s the plan, Meline?”

“I don’t know if it’s ‘helpful’ enough.” Meline made no effort to hide her grin.

“Meline!” Ella was trying not to laugh.

“Selva is clearly anxious about sleeping on her own,” Meline said, removing Ella’s hand from the offending Selva. “So, this first day, why don’t we sleep in her room?”

Ella stopped struggling, and looked down at Selva, who nodded so aggressively Meline worried her head might fall off. She groaned. “Ugh, fine.”

#the fairy tales of ella and meline #tftem #kindling #part 1 #chapter 19 #my original work #backyard fantasy #fae #fey #fairies #fairy tales #family #healing #iyashikei #lgbtq+#magic #strong female protagonists #women

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ellaofoakhill · 4 years ago

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The Wild Rose, Part Four

Nasicus’s home wasn’t hard to find. She haunted the south end of the yard, and the pasture and hayfield beyond. The ground was marshy in spring but otherwise firm, the soil sandy. The entrance to her den, the ruins of a ground squirrel burrow, was partly covered with leaves, but there was no mistaking the snake trail in and out. Nor the smell. Havel, though hardly six hundred, had insisted on coming, arguing Nasicus would be less likely to fight a larger group.

Ella stamped the ground. There was no answer. “Either she is out hunting,” she said, “or she is wary.” She tapped the silver disc on her helm, and it glowed to life. Meline spoke a word, and the emerald tip of her staff shone with a rich green light. Havel did the same with the quartz crystal on his own helm.

“We should stay together,” Ella said. She drew her silver shortsword, and shifted the crystal shield from her back. Havel echoed her.

“Agreed,” Meline said. “And we should watch every passage.”

Ella glanced over at her. “You’re certain you don’t want even a chain corselet?”

Meline swished her mantle, and vanished from sight. “I have my own defences.” She kissed Ella’s cheek. “But thank you for worrying. Shall we continue?”

“Yes. I’ll lead.”

It had been sizable ground squirrels who excavated this burrow. Meline could walk normally. The odd root where the panelling had fallen in brushed Ella’s helm, but only Havel had to bend forward.

The burrow branched off many times, winding about rocks and tree roots. The whole place reeked of snake, but aside from the remains of a few meals, there was no hint of the serpent herself.

Normally, Meline had no problem underground, even in the tightest spaces; she was an earth fairy, after all. But that fearful part of her mind, vividly remembering her encounter with Thamnophis a decade ago, had her stepping lighter than a gnat. The slight jingle of Ella and Havel’s hauberks might conceal the whisper of scale on earth.

“I’ve been in the burrows of several ground squirrels,” Meline said, to steady her nerves, “and this might be the most extensive I’ve ever seen. I mean,” she raised an invisible hand, “we’ve been traipsing about down here for over an hour.”

“This burrow has been here for some time,” Ella said, her head doing a slow back-and-forth across the tunnel as she spoke. “I remember when Oswald Oldrey lived here, generations ago by the measure of his kind. Many creatures have lived here since the last of his descendants left. Nasicus is only the latest occupant.” There was a pause. “I’m sorry, Meline.”

“For?”

There was a fork in the burrow. Ella stopped at it. “For waiting so long before doing this. I should have forbidden all the dangerous creatures in my lands from harming the fey long, long ago.” Her shoulders sagged. “If even a single child had been hurt by my thoughtlessness…”

Meline sighed. “The important thing,” she reached forward and squeezed Ella’s sword-hand, “is that you’re doing it now. You’re trying to be better. And no one’s gotten hurt yet.”

“Yes,” Ella said, “I suppose you’re right.” She turned to the left. “Come, let’s press on.”

It happened with blinding speed. Ella’s shield shifted away from Meline as she turned. The beam of Havel’s gem had already turned down the left passage. In the diffuse light of her gem Meline saw the briefest flash of movement, and agony ripped through her as six dozen knife-sharp teeth buried themselves in her right arm, shoulder, and side.

She dropped her staff. In that berserk pain, an old, old part of her knew she couldn’t properly strike with it, not in this tunnel. A single word blazed in her pounding heart, and she willed her bones not to break.

She twisted, wrenching the holes in her flesh, and drove her left fist into the serpent’s skull. A ripple of pain shot up her left arm, too, but Nasicus let go, crumpling in a scaly heap.

“Are you alright?” Ella was in front of her, pulling back the now-punctured mantle. Meline reached up—gritted her teeth against the fire—and undid the mantle. Blood was starting to stream from the holes.

She felt a rough sting from the wounds in her back. She tried to turn her head, failed, and merely turned her eyes. Havel’s substantial hand pressed the dirt of the passage into each puncture. The wounds he’d already treated were quieting.

“It’s a good thing,” she said, turning back to Ella, “that all any fairy needs to heal a wound is her own element.”

“Venoms and curses are another story,” Ella said, wiping at her eyes with one hand as she scraped up a handful of sandy soil in the other. “Just be glad hognoses have neither.”

Once they’d packed all the wounds, Ella and Havel helped Meline to her feet. “I’m sorry to say,” Ella said, holding up the mantle, “but I think this is finished. Shall we make a sling from it?”

“By all means,” Meline said, cradling her arm, “But maybe leave that to Havel.” She gestured to Nasicus with her foot.

Ella nodded. There was a carefulness to her movements as she picked up her sword that made Meline think she was reining in a ferocious violence. She turned to the crumpled pile of Nasicus, coils of whom stretched back around the twist in the right-hand passage.

“Up!” she barked. “I know you play dead when a stronger creature happens along! Rise, taste my anger on your forked tongue, and pray to Oberon I find a scrap of mercy in my heart!”

Nasicus stirred with suspicious speed. Havel wordlessly pressed Meline’s staff into her left hand; she touched his arm in thanks. The she-snake’s mouth was wider than Ella’s shoulders, but she coiled herself up as small as she could.

“You were moving down my egg-passage,” Nasicus said. “I acted unwisely.”

“I am your lord, and you know it!” Ella’s voice was cold. “And you tried to kill my tenant, one as much under my protection as you are. Before my very eyes.” Her sword bounced in her hand. “What possessed you to strike with such gall?”

Nasicus pressed herself against the ground. “Spare my eggs, please, my lord. And spare me.”

Ella took a deep breath, so deep and slow Meline wondered if it would ever stop. “I will not kill you today, Nasicus,” she stepped forward, “if you agree to bind yourself to me. You may eat the creatures of Gaea, as you and your kind must, in order to live. But try to eat any member of the fey again,” she knelt, her sword prickling Nasicus’s throat, “and as your lord, I will carve your head from your trunk, and spread your blood about the borders of my lands, so all serpents know what happens to fey-eaters. Am I clear?”

Nasicus wilted. “Yes.”

Ella stood. “Do you accept your binding?”

“I accept.”

“Hold out your tail,” Ella said. Her words were iron bars. Nasicus seemed to ripple, and her tail wound its way up the passage toward them. Ella took it in one hand, and pricked it. Nasicus looked as though she didn’t dare twitch.

A drop of blood fell on the blade. Ella began to speak, words which only she and Nasicus could hear. The blood glowed every colour, then floated away from the blade, and re-entered the wound, which closed as if the scales had never been pierced.

“There is another side to this,” Ella said, sounding suddenly exhausted. “If you are in need, and still name my land your home, you may call upon my help when in dire need, if you or yours are threatened.

“I have spared your life. Don’t waste it.” She took back her shield, and gestured for Havel to take the lead back up the length of the burrow. It was a walk in utter silence, but for the softest tramping of their feet.

“Shall we head home?” Ella said once they had emerged into the warm summer night. She laughed when Meline and Havel nodded. “You can speak. The danger has passed!” As they started back to Oakhill she took Meline’s hand. “How are your wounds?”

Meline caught herself before she shrugged. “They’ll probably be better in a few months.” She met Ella’s gaze. “You were perilous down there.”

“I was perilous?” Ella laughed again. “Who struck Nasicus such a blow the ground shook?”

“What? No!” Meline said, taking Ella’s hand with her own and giving a squeeze. Ella feigned as if her hand broke, and Meline smacked her with her good hand. “I just wanted her to let me go.”

“The earth did tremble, though,” Havel said. “I barely saw it, Miss Meline, but if you’d hit the tunnel wall, you would’ve buried us.”

“Then it’s a good thing I can aim,” Meline said with a smile.

Ella stood stunned, then barked with laughter. “One day,” she kissed Meline on the cheek, “you’ll have to tell me your whole story.”

“And one day,” Meline said as she leaned against Ella—she had sustained a serious bite, after all, “you’ll be ready to hear it.”

#the fairy tales of ella and meline #tftem #the wild rose #part 4 #chapter 18 #all ages #backyard fantasy #fae #fey #fairies #fairy tales #family #healing #iyashikei #lgbtq+#magic #romance #strong female protagonists #women

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ellaofoakhill · 4 years ago

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The Wild Rose, Part Two

The old gopher who owned the Green Weevil agreed to rent Meline a room for three days only after Ella—reluctantly affixing the “Lord” to her name—and Art both vouchsafed Meline’s character, and Meline signed off one fourth of everything she owned as collateral. This was much less than it had been merely four hours before, but still a considerable amount.

“Seriously, what did you do?” Ella asked as they returned to the portal. Art was coming with to help move the bulk of Meline’s possessions into storage at Oakhill. Ella didn’t miss the hitch in Art’s step at the question.

“It was all a long time ago,” Meline said, smiling, “and I am not the fairy I was in those days.”

“What fairy were you in those days?”

Art snorted. Meline’s foot slipped and connected with his calf, but she otherwise ignored him. “The kind that wore glass knuckles and studded deep-black.” She laughed at Ella’s expression. “As I said, I’m not that fairy anymore. And while I was rough, I was never mean. Also don’t ask Art about any of this. He wasn’t there.” Art laughed. He took Meline’s swat like a champion. Ella had long since noticed Meline’s nose was crooked; had she broken it in those wilder days?

“Oh!” Meline, said, clapping her hands, “could we do a bit of shopping tomorrow? I need some new furniture.”

“Do you even know where you are living?” Art asked. “There is not much point in buying a beautiful table if it does not fit in the kitchen.” Ella glanced at Meline. They hadn’t told anyone about her offer yet.

“That’s a fair point,” Meline said, tapping a finger against her lips, “although I will for sure need a new cauldron.”

“Well,” Art said, “You know two skilled metalworkers.” He looked at Ella over Meline’s head. “Want to collaborate?”

“Ooh!” Ella said, “That sounds fun!”

“And expensive,” Meline said. They stared at her. “What, you think I’m just gonna leech off everyone who cares about me?”

Art shrugged. “Call it a housewarming present.”

Meline huffed. “Fine, I forgive you for your generosity!”

Ella kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for your mercy, Meline.”

It was fortunate Art had insisted on coming. He was a head and a half taller than Ella, and his four arms let him carry burdens only Ella and Meline together might exceed. His tail also let him steady himself more easily on the winding stairwell.

They put most of Meline’s possessions in a storeroom above the shop and stable. These comprised the bins and sacks which held her still-impressive store of ingredients, and a few tools and utensils that had survived the explosion. And her books. She was reluctant at first to leave them, but after Ella reminded her of the measures she’d taken since Felix’s “visit” almost ten years before—one of her new-forged guardians sat opposite the front door—Meline agreed to trust them to Ella’s keeping.

Ella hosted them for supper, and had a pair of lovely grasshopper nymphs prepared. Their outer shells were crisp, and their meat tender. What Ella and Meline didn’t eat, Art did, along with substantial helpings of steamed carrot and beet. Ella also broke out a bottle of faerye, a non-potent drink the colour of deep red gold. Art found it a bit disappointing.

“The drinks of our different peoples don’t cross over that well,” Meline said as she sipped her own glass; she was looking more relaxed. “Most drakles could down that whole bottle and barely feel its warmth. Drink a half-teaspoon of drakbrau, though, and you’ll need a skilled witch yesterday.”

Art chuckled. “Shortly after I arrived in Oak and Stone, a wood fairy, also a smith, challenged me to see who could drink more of the other race’s brew.” He looked down at his glass. “He must have been new to Nidd, or he would never have made the challenge.” He shrugged. “Lots of us, myself included, told him it was foolish, but he thought no wisdom in the worlds was greater than his. Fortunately, Garelda,” he gestured to Meline, “from the mason’s guild?” Meline nodded. “She ran fast as her legs could take her for the nearest witch. Anyway, I had had more to drink than was wise, and I accepted, thought I might teach him something.”

His shoulders started quaking. “We downed four bottles of… one of your drinks… Fizzbin, was it? Anyway, he was vibrating like a fiddlestring, and I was more sober than when we started. He called that one a draw. I was not surprised, just a bit disappointed.” He covered his mouth and let out a small burp. “And then we started on the dragonfire.”

Meline’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t!” She started laughing.

“His choice, not mine,” Art said, holding up all four of his hands. “Again, wiser voices said it was a bad idea. To be fair, he was no longer in full possession of his faculties.”

“Dragonfire?” Ella looked between them.

“Even by our standards,” Art said, “dragonfire is… potent. It once made me belch actual flames. I suspect this smith thought the name sounded impressive.

“We each drank one shrew’s finger. My belly felt like the contest was finally heating up. He poured it down his throat, spat it straight up in the air, and ran for the nearest outhouse.” Art’s tail slapped the floor. “And no, I do not know what it looked like after.” He

examined the bottle of faerye. “It does not have the same effect on me, but it actually tastes quite nice. A bit of spice, and… almost a tart sweetness underneath.”

“It’s usually made with crabapples,” Meline said. She shook her head. “Ugh, why did we ever think drinking like that was a good idea?”

“Wiser heads did not prevail,” Ella said, sipping her faerye.

Art swiveled an eye to her. “Did you drink much when you were younger, Lord Ella?”

Ella looked down at her glass. “There were times I was tempted.” When Pops came back alone was the hardest. Her master, and the Great Sage, had understood, and helped; the debt Ella owed them for helping her work through those years instead of wallowing in the slick-sided pits of grief was worth more than Oakhill ten times over. “But I was… happy. For the most part. And aside from the flavour, I never felt any need for drink. One glass with good friends is a fine thing.” Ella tilted her head, and took the now-empty bottle of faerye. “Why are we talking about the foolishness of hard drinking? Faerye isn’t even potent.”

Meline shrugged. “It’s made by a similar process, though. And while it doesn’t make a fairy stupid, it is warm and relaxing.”

There was a lull in the conversation. “Question,” Art said, raising a scaly finger.

“Yes, Friend Bronzemonger?” Ella asked.

“Now, this is not at all for me to say,” he steepled the fingers of all four of his hands, such that they looked like a line of tiny peaks, “so if I am sticking my tusks in where they do not belong, tell me so.”

“Out with it, Art!” Meline said, chuckling. “Your fine manners are scaring me.”

Art smiled, running one sheepish hand over his crest. “Have you… considered moving into Oakhill, Meline?” He looked between them, and mis-read their embarrassed surprise. “I mean, I know ten years is not long—hardly a breath in the life of our peoples, really—but it is… a rare thing, to see what you two have. I know my wife—are you two okay?”

Ella had felt a laugh bubbling up, deep in her belly. When her eye met Meline’s they both started howling. Ella actually pounded the table.

“Well,” Meline said, wiping tears from her eyes and turning to Ella, “that’s two people now that have thought of this. Ella,” she turned back to Art, “made the offer yesterday. I’m giving it some thought, and I’ll let her know tomorrow night.”

“Oh!” Art looked, if anything, even more sheepish. “Then far be it from me to stick my tusks in!”

“On the contrary,” Meline said. Ella gave her a sidelong glance. The tone in Meline’s voice was suddenly very tender. “The counsel of good friends is a precious thing.”

“Even unasked for?”

Meline laughed again. “When given for the other’s sake, it can be a lantern in the deeps.” She got up, walked around the table, and kissed Art on a scaly cheek. His crest and frill flushed red.

When the hour was growing late, and Art and Meline were gathering their things to leave, Meline hung back while Ella whistled for Coarser. She leaned in close.

“I wanted to tell just you first,” Meline whispered, softer than velvet. “I accept your proposal, but there are some things we need to discuss tomorrow before I make my home here. Is that alright?”

Ella’s ears rang. She crushed Meline to her and spun her on the spot. She hardly noticed her elbow smack the doorpost, even though it sent shocks down her arm.

“Of course it’s alright,” Ella said, setting her down as Coarser cantered up. He gave the pair one look and seemed to know what was going on. Ella helped Meline mount up, and then kissed her hand. “Until we meet again.”

“Until then,” Meline said, fastening her stonemail cloak as Coarser trotted after Art. Ella watched them go until they were out of sight through the maples.

#the fairy tales of ella and meline #tftem #the wild rose #part 2 #chapter 16 #all ages #backyard fantasy #fae #fey #fairies #fairy tales #family #healing #iyahsikei #lgbtq+#magic #romance #strong female protagonists #women

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ellaofoakhill · 4 years ago

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Frog Legs Soup, Part Two

Author’s Note: Chapter 2 is now up on Tumblr and Wattpad!

Meline was packed before a hundred stars were out. She locked her door with her fairy key, and went to say farewell. The tadpoles cried to see her go, and Evelyn told her to be

careful. Meline pledged to be, and Vedris even offered her his sabre. Meline was touched—she knew the story of his sword—but declined. She knew no swordplay, after all.

And then she was off.

The moon was waxed half, and the stars were bright. The south wind softly hushed, hardly enough to rustle the grass.

Meline rarely traveled toward the house. Usually she roved through the wild potentillas and dogwoods for herbs and pebbles; once a fortnight she’d travel to Oak and Stone for rare goods.

The ground dipped away from the berms surrounding the pond, and then steadily rose. When she climbed to the top of a potentilla, Meline could see the yard in the distance, surrounded by maple and pine. In the distance between, the ground fell and rose and fell again, until it met the trees. To her right were the oaks and cairns, to her left the brush and poplar wood. Between her and the yard were many fairy lights.

“I’d just as soon travel quickly tonight,” she said to herself, “rather than get bogged down in one talk after another.” She dropped from the potentilla. When her feet touched the ground she drew up her deep-black mantle. Less visible than a shadow’s shadow, she held up her staff, and spoke a word of power. The emerald glowed, and Meline felt the earth beneath her feet shift. She took a step, and the earth pushed against her foot, stretching her stride. Smiling to herself, she continued.

Though the earth did indeed speed her way, and none saw Meline as she traveled, she caught snippets of conversation, as fey and creatures mingled. Most of it was casual, and Meline forgot it as she passed.

But as she descended the second rise, the snippets grew more interesting. “Ella the mad fairy lived with people”, “Ella worked with iron”, “the mad fairy drank vole’s blood and had a helmet made of a squirrel’s skull”, “The Mad Fairy of Oakhill stole children that wandered out after dawn”, and other such. Meline was some way from the yard, and knew from her own experience how stories grew the further they traveled. Still, she kept two firm hands on her staff. Talk of “The Mad Fairy” grew less as she drew closer to the yard; fewer fairies lived here, too.

The moon was setting as the trees about the yard grew taller. She was almost to them when Meline’s skin prickled.

There was a fence. Between her and the yard. A fence of iron wire.

She released her magic, but drew her mantle tight about her. She slowly took one step, and then another. A cold sweat ran down her back as the fence drew closer. She tried to keep the breath slow and steady in her chest. Though her eyes dried and sweat dripped into them, she daren’t blink.

And too quickly, one more step would bring her under the wire. She tried to lift her foot. It wouldn’t move.

Meline stood frozen for some time before little voices began to speak to her. …He’s gone… They said he’s left… we have no dad… we wanna be frogs, but we don’t know how… what’s gonna happen to us?

The tadpoles never said the last, but Meline heard it in their hearts. They were alone and scared, like Meline was alone and scared. “No child should ever feel like that.” Meline lifted her foot, and swung it, bit by agonizing bit, forward. Even as every instinct screamed at her to leave, she brought it down. On the other side of the fence.

The next step was easy. So easy. Three more steps, and she dropped to her knees and retched.

Meline got to her feet, and cleaned her face. She gargled a mouthful of dirt, and spat it out. It washed the foulness away.

The trees of the yard were young but tall. It wouldn’t be long, and they’d be true giants, though the trees of Oak and Stone dwarfed them.

Meline walked to the base of a maple. The sky was starting to brighten. The house was dark against the eastern sky. The whole yard rose up to it. Beyond it was another building of the people. To Meline’s left were huge panels on metal stands. They reeked of iron and plastic. Beside the house, was a single tall oak tree. Was that it? Did Ella of Oakhill live there? She must be mad.

Regardless, Meline pressed on. The moonlight was fading, but the stars were still bright as she crossed to the oak.

A rustle to her left caught her ear. She saw a huge shape, low to the ground, moving toward her. She hardly breathed as a she-snake slithered toward her. Even at her best, a she-snake was a huge, dangerous creature for Meline. For any fairy. And Meline was exhausted.

She raised her staff, hoping the serpent would pass her by. It slithered, forked tongue rising and falling, light stripes bright against its black armour.

It stopped, lowered its nose, tasting the ground and the air. Meline held her breath.

It slithered in her direction.

Meline drew her strength into one final word. Her emerald flashed, its light passing into the ground. She shrieked. It shattered the quiet of the night. The serpent recoiled, shaking her head.

Meline sprinted for the tree. It was so far away. Too far away. She’d used so much magic tonight.

A pebble caught her toe. She cursed, tried to keep upright. Three fumbling steps and she crashed to the ground, her mantle slipping. The snake had recovered, and was closing in. Meline rose, clinging to her staff, praying she wouldn’t have to sacrifice it to keep this thing from swallowing her.

It opened its mouth, each dagger-sharp tooth as long as Meline’s finger. Ropes of drool ran from its lips as it pushed its windpipe forward.

“Child of Earth, hear me,” she said, hoping the snake couldn’t feel her legs tremble through the ground, “I am Meline of Wild Rose. Leave this fairy in peace, or I will put my power upon you.”

The snake raised her head. “I am Thamnophis,” she said, her eyes huge and black, her mouth opening wider. “You are tired… Gaze into my eyes, fairy, and sleep… sleep and dream… happily.”

Meline felt herself sag, even as she fought to resist the snake’s charm. Her vision blurred, and the snake drew closer, its mouth impossibly huge. Her scream came out as a sob.

A roar, a hiss of rage, and dazzling silver blocked out the black of the snake’s mouth. “Away, Tham!” Meline looked up, the snake’s charm snapped like a cord. A tall figure stood between her and the serpent. The figure carried a naked sword in one hand, and wore a chain coat.

“You!” The snake rose and snapped her head forward, too fast for Meline’s tired eyes to see. The figure struck the head aside with his sword. The blade bit into scale, but did not cut to the flesh. It scored a gash across the glass of the snake’s eye. She pulled back, and the figure closed, striking the snake on her snout with a gauntleted fist.

“I said away with you!” He grabbed the beast’s tongue and pulled. The snake’s hiss turned to a strangled mewl. He pulled again, until the snake’s scratched eyepiece was next to his face. He spoke low, so Meline couldn’t hear.

Her vision blurred without any magical help, and Meline was out like a light.

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