Zally's Book (4 page)

When I was satisfied, I picked up an armful of the clothes I had tried on, to put them back. Suddenly I heard a
whooshing sound; then a force like the wind pulled the clothes right out of my hands, except for one long silky scarf, which wrapped itself around one of my wrists. Moments later, all of the clothing—except for what I was wearing and the scarf—had returned to its proper place. Next, even faster than the wardrobe had assembled itself, it shrank back into my bag and disappeared, like smoke being sucked into a vacuum cleaner.

I lifted my bag, half expecting it to weigh a ton, but it felt completely normal. I looked inside. The cacao pod was there. I tucked the scarf, which was the light purple of early dawn, into the bag and slung the bag over my shoulder.

Instantly, the circle of grass around me sank into the ground until it was the same height as all the other grass in the area. I could see Queen Patchouli waiting for me.

“What do you think?” I asked, gesturing to my outfit.

“Perfect. Those are special waterproof boots,” the queen said. “I think that you are ready for—”

Just then, a horse and rider galloped up the path and came to a stop right in front of us in a spray of sparkling gravel. The horse, its coat dark with sweat, was a golden palomino with four white stockings and
a flaxen mane and tail. The horse shook its head—the mane had golden strands in it, which reflected the sunlight dazzlingly.

Slumped over the horse's bare back was a girl with wild coral-colored hair. Dirt caked her bare legs and was spattered on her arms. Miniature shells dangled from her earlobes and hung from a chain around her neck. She looked about my age and height. Then I noticed her peach-tinted wings, shimmery and sheer like the wings of the other fairies—but one of her wings was broken.

Turning her head toward us, the fairy girl said, “We need your help.”

3
The Quest

Queen Patchouli lifted a delicate glass bell, which she rang three times. The sound was not loud and definitely not unpleasant, but the effect was astonishing.

In a flash, fairies appeared from all sides. Some ran, and others fluttered in to land beside us on the crystal path. They each brought something: goblets, strips of cloth, buckets of water, bowls of raw vegetables, long sticks of what seemed to be the slender ends of willow branches, and mysterious bits of violet-colored fluff.

The fairy girl was beginning to slip off the horse's back. Afraid that she might break her other wing, I quickly reached out and caught her. Queen Patchouli helped me lower her gently onto her side on the grass. The girl's dress, woven in a tiger pattern, was torn and muddy.

The horse's sides heaved. An amber-winged fairy set a bucket of water before the horse and let him drink a few sips while an identical fairy covered the horse with a light blanket. The twin fairies then coaxed the palomino to walk in a slow circle to cool down.

The queen swept her arms out wide. The rest of the fairies set to work at an almost feverish pace. A fairy with fuchsia wings offered the fairy girl a goblet filled with clear liquid.

“It should help the pain,” Queen Patchouli said.

As the fairy girl accepted the cup, more fairies sat down beside her. They dipped the strips of cloth into the buckets of warm water and wiped dirt from her face and arms. Another fairy untangled her long coral hair with a comb carved from wood.

When the horse was cooled down, the twin fairies removed his blanket. Three fairies with iridescent wings flew in over the horse. They emptied bucket after bucket of cool water over his back, head, and flanks. One of the amber-winged fairies fed him fresh carrots.

During all of the activity, Queen Patchouli very seldom spoke, except to say, “There,” or, “Over here, please,” or, “Yes, thank you.”

Soon, the tiny bits of violet fluff sprang into
action. Although they looked vaguely like purple caterpillars, they moved fast. Dozens of the fluffs hopped onto the horse's coat and jiggled around like miniature scrub brushes, removing dirt from the animal's back. More of the fluffs cleaned the fairy girl, who stayed silent.

When the baths were done, one fairy talked softly to the horse, who kept looking over at the injured fairy with a worried expression. Finally the horse folded his legs beneath him and lay down. He seemed to fall into a deep sleep. Then all the fairies disappeared into the woods. Queen Patchouli picked up several long pieces of whip-thin willow stick and handed them to me. She knelt next to me, beside the injured fairy, who hissed with pain when we had to straighten her broken wing.

“I'm sorry. We'll try not to hurt you,” I said.

“Follow this pattern,” Queen Patchouli instructed me, tracing her finger along a line in the wing that looked like the vein of a leaf. Even though I wasn't quite sure what I was doing, I watched the fairy queen and tried to do on the front of the wing whatever she was doing on the back, so that my work mirrored hers.

“This is quite a serious break,” Queen Patchouli murmured. Her brows drew together with concern. “The Willowood Fairies do not have healing magic for something this serious. All I can do is make a special support for the wing so it can get better on its own.” She handed me a soft white strip that looked like a satin ribbon.

“How long will that take?” I asked.

“A year or more,” Queen Patchouli answered as she placed a silky strip over the willow splint on her side of the girl's wing and smoothed it down. It stuck in place like the tape they use at a doctor's office.

I did exactly what she had done, and the piece of ribbon on my side of the wing stuck and held the willow in place as well. We both picked up another piece of willow and began to secure the next part of the wing. “A year? Is that normal?” I asked in surprise. “Bones usually heal in a few months in our world. She'll be able to fly before then, won't she?”

The fairy girl's eyes had drifted closed while we worked.

“I'm afraid not,” Queen Patchouli said. “If she puts
any
weight on her wing before it is fully healed, she risks a worse break and may never be able to fly again. Only Queen Carmina in the Kib Valley has the healing power that can fully mend this wing.”

At this, the golden horse raised his head, shook his mane, and whinnied loudly. The fairy girl's eyes opened wide.

“I am from Queen Carmina's tribe, the Kib Fairies.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she hung her head. “Queen Carmina is … unwell,” she went on, her voice fainter. “She can no longer heal anyone, including herself.”

“Quiet now,” said Queen Patchouli. “You and your horse must rest and refresh yourselves. My fairies are preparing food. You may tell us your story while we eat.”

We finished splinting the fairy's wing, and Queen Patchouli rang the bell again. Moments later, four fairies came, carrying the ends of a hammock made of willow branches. They lowered it to the ground, slipped it under the fairy girl, then scooped her up in it.

The fairies carrying the injured fairy in the hammock flew away. The queen went to the resting horse and placed a hand on his forelock. His big brown eyes opened and he turned his head from side to side, searching for the fairy girl.

“She is safe,” I said soothingly.

“Come this way,” the queen said to the horse.

I wasn't surprised when the horse rose to his
feet. After all, this was a dreamland, so why shouldn't a horse understand speech? I wondered if he could speak, as the three of us walked together until the crystal path met another pathway.

We stopped in a clearing where the Willowood Fairies had set up tables in concentric circles. On a raised circle in the center of these tables was another table, this one small and set for three. The fairy girl was already sitting there. Beside the table, a low bench was spread with oats, apples, and alfalfa. Clear water filled a crystal trough. The horse went to the food at once. Queen Patchouli told me to sit on one side of the injured fairy, and she sat on the other side.

Then the queen rang the bell, and all the fairies sat. Once the whole tribe was seated, Queen Patchouli gently asked the injured fairy to introduce herself and tell her story.

The horse stopped eating and looked up as the fairy began to speak.

“I am Imishi of the Kib Fairies,” the fairy girl began. She was still sitting, but her voice carried across the clearing, and she put a hand to the string of shells at her neck. “Some call us the Shell Fairies. And
this”—she waved her hand at the horse—“is Kir, prince of the horses of Kib Valley. As most of you know,” she said, glancing at me with an odd expression as if she had just now noticed that I had no wings, “our fairy queen, Carmina, is a great healer—or was, until …” Her voice broke. She drew a deep breath and started again. “In our valley, we take in animals, fairies, and other creatures when they are injured, sick, or frightened. Our tribe has a gift for healing them, under the direction of Queen Carmina.”

I picked up a slice of pink fruit from my crystal plate and ate it while Imishi continued her tale.