Dreams and Shadows - By C. Robert Cargill Page 0,48
Colby.
“What you’re feeling is a fairy path. But when we follow that path, we’ll find some fairies.”
“Cool!”
“Yes, very.”
The two turned back to the road, Colby exuberant, a whirling tempest of warm sunshine. Soon they took the last few steps toward the path, the tugging leading them off the pavement, into the brush, the highway disappearing into the thick foliage behind them.
The path felt alive, an electric trail of tingling sensations, rippling like waves lapping against the shore. Sweet aromas hung in the air—milkweed mixed with lavender—teasing Colby’s nostrils as he made his way deeper and deeper into the trees. The tree line became a forest, its canopy brooding darkly above them, dimming the harsh sun into a soft, warm glow.
The path continued deep into the wood, winding erratically, as if it had been carved out by drunken pixies chasing a confused cat. It wove through small grottos, past fields filled with tall grass and thick knobby trees. Colby bounded from patch to patch, always ahead of Yashar, his eyes glued to the ground around his feet. He could have walked within fifty feet of an elephant to one side and missed it entirely, but not missed a nickel halfway covered in dirt if it was anywhere on the path.
He had no idea what lay around each corner or bend—whether it be a pixie or a nixie, a spriggan or a sprite. Yashar had mentioned them all, and while the tales often went in one ear and out the other, fragments of them remained; there were a lot of things he expected to see around each turn and tree, but the last thing he anticipated coming across was a little boy no older than he. But that was exactly what he found.
It was two in the afternoon on a rather warm and delightful Tuesday—nestled perfectly in the bosom of spring—that the boy Colby and the boy Ewan first set eyes on each other. There was no preamble to their meeting, no warning or alarm. Both boys darted around a tree, stopping dead in their tracks, their eyes locking immediately.
“You can’t see me,” Ewan stated.
“Yes I can,” replied Colby, very much able to see the boy standing right in front of him.
“No you can’t. I’m invisible.”
Colby shook his head. “Not to me, you’re not.”
“Oh yes I am. I’m a fairy and you’re just a boy. You’re not supposed to see me.”
“You’re no fairy,” said Colby.
“I’m mostly fairy,” said Ewan. “That’s all that matters.”
“What’s a Mostly Fairy?” asked Colby.
“It means I’m almost a fairy, so I’m still partly boy.”
“Well, I’m all boy.”
“I know,” said Ewan.
“How do you know that?”
“Because Dithers taught me the difference between all the fairies and you don’t look like any of them. You just look like a boy.”
“What’s a Dithers?”
“He’s the fairy that takes care of me.”
“Wow! You have a fairy?!”
“Yeah. He feeds me and takes me out to hunt and stuff.”
“I have a djinn,” said Colby proudly.
“What’s a djinn?” asked Ewan.
“You know,” said Colby, “the smokey guys from lamps. They grant wishes.” Ewan shook his head, sure that this boy was now making things up. “Haven’t you ever heard of Aladdin?”
Again Ewan shook his head. “No.”
“Or Ali Baba and the forty thieves?”
“No.”
“Don’t you know anything?”
“YES!” said Ewan, putting his hands firmly on his hips. “I know lots of stuff!”
“Like what?”
“Like where the pixies live, and what a Buber is and where to find Bill the Shadow and why you should never dance with a fairy when they ask you to.”
“But you’ve never seen Aladdin?” asked Colby.
“No.”
“Well, you don’t know anything then.”
Both grimaced for a moment. “I’m Ewan,” said one boy to the other.
Colby extended a hand. “My name’s Colby.” Ewan stared him down, distrusting the outstretched arm. “Don’t you know how to shake hands?”
“No.”
Colby stamped his foot, exaggeratedly throwing out his arms. “Gah! You don’t know anything!”
“What do we have here?” called Yashar from behind Colby. Colby turned to look at Yashar, shaking his head.
“I found a boy who doesn’t know anything.”
Yashar sauntered up the path. “Did you now?” At first he wasn’t sure what to make of Ewan. Thin, dirty, relatively unkempt, the boy appeared to be entirely feral. But as he peered closer, he could see the hints of glamour flickering off him, shimmering, sparkling beneath the surface. This boy lived among the fairies and was probably a stolen child adopted by some lovesick mother. Protective though they were of their charges, Yashar could find no reason the two boys couldn’t talk—especially since the young Ewan