Inspiration sparked from this image, and the story of one who would set aside the most common worldly protections and venture on without them came to be.
JD Louis – 2021-07-07
“Papa!” squealed the boy, his brown curls bouncing with excitement. His yellow boots scuffled expediently across the pavement, scattering echoes between the bridge’s looming arched beams. Balancing on the threshold of packed earth, he tottered back and forth on the balls of his feet. He pointed his chubby finger at the empty space where things had previously been. “Dey eated it!” He smiled widely.
“Of course they did, Haydal” said his father, Demitri, tousling the boy’s hair. “Where do you want to leave today’s?” He handed the child a paper bag filled with bruised fruit and crusty bread. Haydal cradled it in both arms, stretching his neck to peer over the top. Surveying the deserted alcove, he picked out a smooth, dirt-packed spot near the far corner and waddled over. “Will they be able to find it over there?” The cracked concrete pillar towered over them, casting its shadow over the metal grate that blocked off the next arch.
“Mhm. Dey can find anythin’.” He gave a solemn nod, his cherub lips pursed thoughtfully like those of a fish. “But maybe the littler ones can git it first, if we hide it.”
“I’m sure that they share with the little ones too.”
Demitri crouched to help Haydal set down the near-toddler sized sack, but the boy shook his head with a determined grimace and straining, tucked it snugly into the arch’s indent.
“Nu uh. The big trolls take it and leave nudding for anybody else!”
“Haydal,” he gave the preschooler a disapproving frown. “We don’t use the word trolls.”
“Ok Papa,” he agreed absently, patting the bag with his open palms. It crunkled satisfactorily. Business done, he looked around and grinned when he saw the faint stream of iridescence floating nearby. “Papa, dey’re here!” He pressed his puny fists against his mouth, wiggling with anticipation. Demitri swept his gaze over the deserted underbridge and grimaced. There was no one in sight, but the damp breeze on his skin had begun to feel oppressive.
“We better go, then. They’re probably hungry.” The man unrolled his boy’s clenched hand and secured it in his own, tugging him toward the sidewalk. Reluctantly, Haydal allowed himself to be dragged away, craning backward to keep their offering in view. Ever so slowly, an apple tipped over the lip of the bag and rolled behind the pillar, disappearing into the alcove. He hummed happily.
𓊊
The walk through the tree-filled park featured skittering squirrels, flittering birds, and an anomalous amassment of glittering specks that floated alongside them. Grinning with delight, Haydal waved a pudgy hand through the shimmering vapor and it swirled around his arm.
“That tickles!” a little voice laughed. Haydal jumped with a start and tried to tuck himself into the folds of his father’s white and green grocers’ smock. He couldn’t see who’d said that, even with his eyes as wide and round as they would go.
“Who is dat?” Haydal questioned the vacant space around him, frowning seriously. He looked for the sparkles, but the sun was starting to duck down, and it outshone anything else.
“Who is who?” his father asked, keeping a tight hold on his son’s hand. If he didn’t practically drag him along, they would never get anywhere.
“We left all our food,” the boy explained to their unseen visitor. Using the hand grasping his as an anchor, he twisted around, attempting to spot where the shining flecks had gone.
Demitri sighed and scooped his son up into his arms, settling him on his hip. “Don’t worry, buddy. We have more at home.” Gravel crunched beneath his shoes as he trudged up the last slope.
The deep emerald, grassy hills and overhanging leaves glinted in the dwindling sun. Staring behind them, Haydal watched the glimmering cloud dancing in the dappled shadows.
𓊊
As twilight fell, Haydal lay snuggled in a bed just his size, his navy blanket tucked tightly under his chin. The full moon shone brightly through the bedroom window, spilling onto the circular rug, sending his toys’ shadow doubles reaching toward the maw of the gaping closet. He yawned and nuzzled back into the soft coolness of the pillow. “Papa?” he asked, rubbing a fist against his drooping eyelid.
Demitri smiled tiredly, perched on the edge of the mattress. He bent and gently brushed one of Haydal’s curls away from his face. “Yes, son?”
“What if dey follow us home?” his little forehead creased with worry and his lip stuck out in an unintentional pout.
“The people we leave food for at the bridge?” They had never even seen anyone there when passing through. He worried about where such an idea would come from.
The boy shook his head, “Not de people. De creatures.” he grimaced, frustrated that he did not know what else to call them. Surely they had names.
At that, his father quirked an eyebrow in curiosity. “What kinds of creatures have you seen there, Haydal?” Inwardly, he quivered.
“You know!” he demanded adamantly. “Dere’re big, with masks. An’ small ones, with wings.”
The man nodded with understanding. They had encountered many a pigeon in their visits, and even a raccoon once. Surely that is what he meant. He forced the alternative from his mind. “No, they won’t follow us. The bridge is their home, just like this is ours. Besides, they’re distracted by all the nice things you brought them.”
Relieved with that knowledge, Haydal drifted off to sleep. Demitri stood and silently cursed himself for allowing today’s playtime debris go unputaway. Tip-toeing gingerly, he wove his way through the clutter. Whispering a prayer of thanks that he had avoided all of those wretched plastic bricks, Demitri slunk quietly from the bedroom, not quite closing the door behind him.
𓊊
A giggle resounded in the darkness, accompanied by the smooth rolling of a toy truck across wooden floors. Then a thud, followed by angry squeaking.
Haydal sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes. In the middle of the carpet stood what looked like wings attached to a miniature pair of legs. He blinked blearily. It was a miniature person! With wings! And it was trying to push hopelessly entangled wheels out of the shag and back onto the floor.
“Trucks get stuck in da rug,” he explained through a yawn. The intruder whipped around, springing up into the air. A twinkling cloud floated in its wake. Speeding straight up, it dove into the belly of the curved light fixture like it was making a home run. Wrapping its fingers over the frosted glass lip, it hauled itself forward to peek over the edge at the child below. Haydal scooched into a sitting position, clutching his comforter close. “Papa said you wouldn’t follow us.”
Everything was very still. Moonlight poured through the window, washing the room in an icy glow. You could barely see the creature’s spiky haired silhouette. Cautiously, it pulled itself up enough to expose its face, which was sharply angular and set with solid black eyes.
“Before we couldn’t. But before is then!” it replied vibrantly, with a voice like a violin. It cocked its head to the side, starting the spikes on its head bouncing “Now it’s now, and now we can play!”
Haydal frowned, “It’s not time to play. It’s time to sleep.” He wrapped his blanket tighter around himself. “We’ll be in trouble.”
The creature pushed itself out of the lamp with a heave and fluttered down in front of Haydal in a torrent of glitter. It quirked its smile sideways, a mischievous gleam dancing across its inky-dark eyes. “Pixies don’t mind trouble. Some trouble can be fun, can’t it, Haydal?”
Haydal didn’t think to respond. He was mesmerized, staring at the little person. It was covered all over in a suit of shiny scales or maybe feathers; the colour squirmed under the moonlight, turning green-blue or purple or gold. The spikes were hair that poked out in a fancy plume like Aunt Hilda’s funny bird.
Called a cookatook, he recalled proudly.
But cookatooks only had two wings and the pixie had four. They were slender and curved and in the shape of an X on its back, as long as his visitor was tall. They were see-through, like a dragonfly’s, with a golden edge both outlining and webbed through each wing. You would hardly see them at all except for the ripple of shifting colours that pulsed through them. It was surrounded in a shimmering haze – sparkles followed it but never seemed to land on anything.
It spun, giggling, then held out a tiny handshake. “My name is Cedr.”
Haydal took the hand between two of his fingers and shook it – that’s what you’re supposed to do after all. “Hello, Cedr.”
The pixie smiled grandly, brandishing its rows of pointed teeth. “Would you like to play with me?”
𓊊
Sunlight painted the blue walls with a cheery luster. Except Demitri was anything but cheery to find his son’s room vacant.
“Haydal!” he called, stepping over the mess – it had grown in the night, he was sure. Was that a cheese wrapper? “Where are you, buddy?”
He swung open the closet door expecting to see a snickering boy, but found only the stoic chest of drawers and a smattering of fallen books.
“Haydal?”
Vainly shifting pillows and peeking around corners, Demitri tossed the crumbled comforter aside, and a lump caught in his throat.
“No. No. That’s against the rules. They wouldn’t…”
He gingerly plucked a crystal shard from the sheets and lofted it into a sunbeam. Razor-edged prisms of iridescent not-quite-glass refracted the sunlight; on the walls, shadows of pixies danced.
He turned as he pocketed the star fragment and dashed out the door, leaping over the mess. He had to get to his shop, but he couldn’t go by the bridge, not yet. He would have to take the long way. Snatching his keys without stopping, Demitri abandoned the house and began to run.
𓊊
He slipped through the alley to the rear entrance. The last thing he wanted was to attract the attention of customers, or his assistant manager. Abbi had not been pleased by his phone call: There’d been a family emergency and that she would need to tend the store until he could return. No, he didn’t know how long that would be.
The door clanged shut behind him. He cringed, but didn’t stop. Jaunting over to the furthest storage locker, he unbarred the glorified mesh cage, forcing himself to move slowly and deliberately despite the jostling adrenaline within. Demitri exhaled a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding as the wire gate swung inward, and he yanked the beaded cord of the overhead lamp. It swung uneasily above his head, illuminating the crowded unit and casting – thankfully – only regular irregular shadows. He pushed past the various junk and defunct shelves until, shoved beneath the undermost shelf and behind a stack of boxes, he found what he was looking for.
He hauled out a red wood chest and set it on the concrete floor within the swaying circle of light. It was simple and sturdy – two rectangular halves of smooth, thick hardwood, held together along one seam by a continuous iron hinge. The only thing like ornamentation was the outline of carved runes surrounding each of the several iron clasps. The hefty case had nothing particularly ominous about it, but commanded an air of respect nonetheless. He spun a combination into the dial until the tumblers clicked. He settled back on his haunches, rubbing his fingers together anxiously, waiting through the cascade of metallic popping as the latches released. He heaved the lid open with shaking hands.
Inside lay a worn, black leather pack, its cargo giving it shape. The surface bore scars and nicks, and the cords were fraying at the ends. Despite this, the leather was still dark as Void and the scores in the hide were vague imprints. It had healed well. Deftly untying the knot of cord that bound it, Demitri flipped back the cover and allowed the mouth of the sack to widen. Tipping up the bottom, it surrendered the contents into the trunk’s wooden interior.
Setting the empty bag absently aside, he smoothed his hands over the shifting green fabric of a folded smock, the rugged fibers responding to his touch, undulating eagerly. Shaking it out, he slipped the strap over his neck. As he fastened the ties at his waist, it molded to him, as snug and uncomfortable as an unsolicited hug from a distant relative.
Next, he buckled the mundane leather belt around his hips. No midnight monster skin here. Its many pockets replenished as he did so, padding themselves and adding a comforting weight. He withdrew the gnarled shillelagh from the container and slid it into the sturdy hanging loop designed for that specific purpose. It was heavier than it should be, as if reluctant for the task at hand.
“I don’t want to do this any more than you do,” he muttered to the weapon, regarding it as you would an old friend you’d been happy to part ways with.
That left only a small metallic picture frame, wedged in the corner of the box. It showed a man reminiscent of Demitri – shaggy hair with more black than grey, a well-defined nose that had its share of breaks. But the younger man had a glint in his eye he hadn’t seen for a long time. Next to him was a woman with flowing chestnut hair, brown eyes so pale they were almost golden, and a smile that could melt any heart. She was nestled back against his chest, his arms around her.
He held the frame for a moment, passing a calloused thumb over the woman’s image. Then, tucked the memento into a hidden pocket on the inside of his smock.
Set, he closed the trunk and returned it to its hiding place, tucking it deep below the overhang. He slung the pack over his shoulder by a single strap; he needed a few more things.
Jogging quickly through the aisles, he tossed whatever he thought might be useful into his pack – dried meats and trail mix, a bag of sweet buns, a bottle of dish soap, popping candy, and a few other odds and ends. Lastly, he slid his pricing gun into the remaining leather loop.
Now he was ready.
𓊊
By the time he reached the bridge, anger had replaced his adrenaline steeped fear. He stood in the withering grass, just outside the bridge’s border. The tattered remnants of yesterday’s delivery still lay scattered across the dusty ground. Pedestrians passing on the adjacent sidewalk gave him odd looks, but he paid them no mind. The fae had taken his son and that would not stand. Whatever trick they were up to, they should not have started this again.
It was important to show the guardians he was willing to leave his world behind. Slipping off his shoes and socks, he stacked them neatly to the side, shrine and offering both. The space beneath the threshold shifted subtly, becoming a threatening incandescence.
Stepping into it, he felt the barrier envelop him. It was thick, cohesive, and stung – like wading through corrosive jello. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he braced himself and pushed forward. Going back was not an option, not without his boy. He hoped that sizzling sound was only in his imagination. Gritting his teeth, he slogged onward until he stumbled through the other side.
Fresh air soothed his burning skin, and carried the scents of churned earth and distant rain. Gone were the streets and crumbling concrete – he was surrounded instead by a mossy hollow with trees looming overhead, and a worn path at his feet. Beyond his sight, the forest chittered. With a deep breath, Demitri stepped out from the shadow of the gargantuan tree that spanned the gap above. He hitched his pack and started forward.
“I’m coming, Haydal.”
Thanks for reading.