Chapter 5

Chapter 5

There was once a kind but lonely peasant woman with no husband and no children. One day, the peasant woman gave food to a beggar woman passing through the village. In return, the beggar woman gave her a single barleycorn and told her to plant it. The peasant woman did as she was told, placing the seed in a pot of soil on her windowsill in the sun. She patiently watered the seed each day until a lithe green plant sprouted. Day after day, the plant grew taller, until one day it grew a small bud. The next morning, the peasant woman watched as the bud opened to reveal a beautiful flower and a tiny girl asleep in the center. The peasant woman named the girl Thumbelina because she was no taller than her thumb.

One night, as Thumbelina slept in her walnut-shell bed, a she-toad came a stole her from the house. The toad wanted Thumbelina to marry her ugly son, but Thumbelina escaped by floating downstream on a lily pad. A stag beetle captured Thumbelina, wanting her to marry him, but his insect friends said that she was too ugly, so he left her to wander and fend for herself.

As the weather grew colder, Thumbelina struggled to care for herself. A kindly old field mouse took Thumbelina in and gave her shelter for the winter. Thumbelina found a swallow half-frozen in the snow, and she and the field mouse cared for the bird. The field mouse suggested that Thumbelina marry her neighbor, a mole, but Thumbelina did not want to because she would hate to live in a home without sunlight. With the swallow’s help, Thumbelina left the mole and the mouse, only to fall from the bird’s back into a field of flowers. In the field, Thumbelina met a flower-fairy prince who fell in love with her and asked to marry her. The prince gave Thumbelina a pair of wings so she could travel with him, and they lived happily ever after.

“Rewrite history? But, it’s all in the book.”

“My dear, history has always been written by the victors. In this case, the royal family published a history book as propaganda during and after the Magic Scour as a way to secure favor with the populace. May I ask, have you actually read it?” Alpinolo stared me down.

“Not all of it.”

“Well, while Trixie, Dixie, and Moxie are preparing our map for our journey, perhaps you should read this section.” He lifted his hand, and the enormous history book floated out of my bag and into my hands. With another flick of his fingers, it opened to a page towards the beginning. The page showed the head of a chapter labeled Preface in large, illuminated script.

Magic and men do not mix. The infernal powers are such that they cannot be harnessed by any good person, and all those who may command them are black of heart.

           Obviously, this was what I had always been taught, but now, having met Alpinolo, and even Moxie and Parchibald, I could not bring myself to agree that magic was only practiced by those of a sinister nature. I read on.

Remember the tale of the young man who strove to become a sorcerer! Laziness and the allure of magic caused him to abandon his chores. Whereas he had once been sensible and carried water in two buckets on a yoke, he decided instead to use magic to make his task easy. He harnessed the dark power and awoke a broom to carry the water for him, but the broom continued to carry water even after the cistern was full. The foolish young man could not stop the magic, so he attacked the broom with an ax. Each splintered piece of the cursed broom transformed into a new broom and, horror of horrors, continued to carry water. With an army of these such cursed brooms flooding the town, the villagers were forced to evacuate, and the foolish young man drowned. This story itself seems a compelling proof against such hateful practices.

           This story did not shock me. After all, I had grown up hearing such horrible fairy tales as a child. We would sit on the counter while cook fed us sweet cakes, and she would tell us frightening tales of how magic beings had kidnapped good girls who had refused to eat their vegetables or make their beds. The story of “The Boy and the Brooms” was just another of these tales. Could it have been true, as we always thought, or was it written to scare people, as it had scared us?

But there are those who would still be tempted to turn to magic in times of desperate need, and woe unto them who follow this path. Think back on the poor town of Honelin, once so prosperous, fair, and happy! An unlucky infestation of rats �" and who can say for certainty from whence they came? �" afflicted the townspeople. With nowhere else to turn, it seemed, the mayor accepted the proffered services of a mysterious young man with a flute. The young man played the flute and danced in the town square, and the rats came from every corner and followed him as he danced out of town. He danced into the river and the rats followed him, where they were swept away by the strong current and drowned. This seemed a good solution to the townsfolk, but the young man had not removed all of the rats, so the mayor refused to pay him. He left angrily, but returned a few days later with his flute. He played the flute and danced in the town square, and this time the children came from every corner and followed him as he danced out of town. He danced into the river and the children followed him, where they were swept away by the strong current and drowned. The mysterious young man disappeared, and the townspeople were left alone and distraught. Let it be a lesson to all who are tempted: magic is dangerous and will not solve problems, but only increase them!

This story shocked me the most. Why would anyone do something like that to others? “Alpinolo, this story cannot be true.”

“And why is that, exactly?”

“Well, something isn’t true.” I suddenly felt rather stuck in my own logic. “I mean, somebody’s lying, right? My family raised me on these stories and taught me to fear all magic. It says right here that magic can’t be harnessed by anyone with a good heart. But you have been so kind to me, even though I fell into a trapdoor. So, is magic bad, or is it good? Because you’re good, but in the story about Honelin, the young man with magic is bad!”

He smiled, looking tired for the first time. “It is a difficult question, yes?” He paused. “I know I have told you this several times already, but I cannot give you the answer. It is something you must decide for yourself as we complete our journey, and then only you will know best how to act on your decision. The answer will be in your heart, Brina.”

Alpinolo fell face-first into the floor as Moxie bounded up and slapped him on the back again. “Ho ho, you’ve gotta be ready, Al!”

“Kindly remember, please,” the fairy said as he stood and stiffly dusted himself off, “that my name is ‘Alpinolo,’ Moxie.”

“I know your name, silly!” she laughed, effervescent. “Guess where we’re going first!”

“I honestly have no idea. Where?”

She grinned toothily. “To the elves!”

“Ah.” Alpinolo seemed satisfied by this. “That seems an excellent place to begin.”

“Elves?” I couldn’t believe we were already leaving. “What’s the difference between fairies, pixies, and elves?”

Alpinolo’s eyes widened, and he looked sidelong at Moxie, but she only laughed loudly.

“You really are new, eh, human? Well, that’s easy! We’re all about the same size, but pixies are the most powerful and the most colorful! Fairies are the most bookish…”

“And we are the only ones with tails,” finished Alpinolo, as if he had been in this discussion before. “But elves are the most industrious and are also the most interested in human affairs. I assume this is why Trixie and Dixie, in their infinite wisdom, decided to send us first to the elves.”

It seemed to make sense to me. “Well, I already like the fairies and pixies I know, so I suppose I shall like the elves equally well.”

“Let us hope so,” said Alpinolo. “Moxie, please remember that we will need to procure some milk.”

As it turned out, the task of carrying the ceramic jar of milk fell to me, since I still carried my bag with my book and clothes. Moxie further filled it with apples and bread. When I asked if we would all be riding Stella, however, I was sorely disappointed.

“A horse would be frightened to travel the way we will be going,” Alpinolo explained gently. “She will be brought safely back to your family’s barn.”

I could only imagine how my parents would react to that.

Trixie and Dixie vacated the stone dais so that the three of us could stand in the center. They instructed me to stand as still and straight as I could. Then Moxie and Alpinolo began dancing around me, making strange sounds that I could only guess were the words of a spell. The stone at my feet began to feel warm and soft, and suddenly I could feel myself sinking through it. I closed my eyes tightly in fear and held my breath, waiting for the end.

Then I was standing on an old wooden floor in a musty, cobwebbed shack. “Where in the world…?”

“They’re down this way, come on!” Moxie bounced off down a short wooden hallway. Why do all the ceilings have to be so low?

I walked in a crouch for about a hundred yards, but then the hallway opened suddenly into a large, airy space. The room was paneled in wood, like the hallway, but it seemed much brighter and less musty. Elves filled the room. They huddled together in front of chalk boards covered in strange, cramped handwriting and bizarre images. Others stood at stone tables in twos and threes, mixing bowls of foul-smelling liquids. Yet more sat on wooden stools at wooden tables and carved, sewed, painted, and sculpted. The whole room sounded like a beehive.

A very grave and grizzled elf stepped forward to greet us. “Alpinolo, my old friend, how good of you to visit us again. And Moxie, it is truly an honor.” He stopped, seeing me for the first time.

Alpinolo hurriedly filled in. “Calistair, this is Brina. She is the human Trixie, Dixie, and Moxie have chosen to help us. But, of course, before she can provide us with aid, she must know more about us.”

“Hmmm.” Calistair hummed thoughtfully as he circled me, pushing his tiny glasses farther up onto his nose and occasionally wiping his bald head with a very red handkerchief. “Can’t see any reason why not,” he finished at last.

“Very well,” Alpinolo seemed relieved. “Is there by chance anyone in the workshop who would like to speak with her?”

“There may be some in a moment, but first I shall take her on the tour!”

“Brina,” Alpinolo whispered to me, “elves are very proud of their projects, so please be polite.”

“I am always polite. Usually.”

I followed Calistair over to the largest chalkboard. “See here, human, how creative we elves are! Lonton, Miali, and Cerval are working a way to build houses in midair! And, over here,” he brought me to a stone table, “Chester and Fiona are trying to find a way to make venomous snakes edible!” He beamed. “And over here is my son, Timonus, and his friend, Pondry: the finest shoemakers in the world!”

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” I said as I shook their tiny hands.

“Calistair,” Alpinolo spoke up, “who will speak to Brina?”

“Why, these boys, of course!” Calistair’s smile grew even broader, and he wiped his glistening head again. “Timonus, tell this human your story.”

The larger of the two elves stood up from his stool and put his hands behind his back, almost like a schoolboy reciting a lesson. “I once found a home in a village where the goodwife would set out a dish of milk and honey on the back porch every evening for the cat. That’s by far my favorite food! I felt she was so kind to me that I decided to share with my friends, and a group of us would visit every night.”

Pondry stood to continue the tale. “One particular evening, we heard the woman’s husband telling her how his money was almost gone and they would be out on the street. She asked him if he had any more shoes he could sell, and he told her that he had material for one more set of shoes, because the last ones he made he had given to a poor lady.”

“My friends and I thought the man so generous and his wife so kind that we wished to do something for them in return. We waited until their lights were out, then we went to the man’s workshop and made a beautiful pair of shoes out of his last materials. In the morning we saw how surprised he was! We laughed so loud that his wife heard us and asked if there were mice in the house. He sold the shoes we made and had enough money to buy more leather and feed a poor man.

“The second night, after we enjoyed our milk and honey, we made two pairs of shoes for the man to sell, and he was even more surprised! We laughed again, even louder than before, and again the wife asked if there were mice in the house. The man sold one pair of shoes and gave the other pair to a poor child, then bought more leather.”

“On the third night, we crept into the man’s workshop to make more shoes for him to sell. But we didn’t know that he and his wife were watching to see who had been making shoes every night. When they saw us the wife screamed because she thought we were mice! She chased us out with a broom, and the next night there was no dish of milk and honey on the porch.”

I was astounded. “Did you ever go back to help them?”

“No. She didn’t like us being there, and she didn’t leave us any more food. They were both very nice, and I hope they’re doing well, but it wasn’t worth it for us to go back and get swatted with a broom!”

“You see, young lady, before the royal family decided to outlaw magic, a good deal of Faragwaine’s economy relied upon products made by elves. We use good materials and careful construction, and we set fair prices. But, because we are magical creatures, trade with us is no longer sanctioned. Have you ever noticed how difficult it is to come by some items?

I thought about shoes, and large serving plates, and the lovely carved wooden desk in Father’s study unlike any I had ever seen. “I do indeed, Calistair. Our world is far poorer without the fair contributions of your craftsmanship.” How’s that for diplomatic?

“Not only do we contribute material things, my dear,” said a small voice from behind me. I turned to see a smiling she-elf, middle-aged and soft, warm like a mother should be. “I too tried to help a human, though my story is a happier one.

“I lived just outside of a village ruled by a cruel lord and his kind wife. She did what she could for her husband’s beleaguered subjects, but I would pitch in and help when she needed it. I often followed the lord about to see who would need help after he bothered them.

           “The lord visited a beautiful young lady named Renalda. She was betrothed to a hunter and caring for her sick mother, but the lord wanted her to become a lady-in-waiting. She refused his offers, even when he told her he would leave his wife and marry Renalda instead. Renalda loved the hunter too much to abandon him, and the lord’s wife was too kind to betray her, and Renalda’s mother was too sick for her to leave.

           “The lord was very angry at being repulsed and so told Renalda that she could not marry the hunter until the lord died, and that until that time she would have to make her wedding dress and the lord’s shroud out of nettles.

           “Renalda despaired, because no one had ever spun nettles before, but I stayed in her home and helped her in secret, guiding the nettles onto the spindle to make a beautiful thread. It was not long before the lord visited Renalda again, and she was able to show him her finished wedding dress. That same day, she began spinning the lord’s shroud, and he fell ill.

           “The cruel lord told his soldiers to throw Renalda into the river, but I helped her swim to shore. They tied a stone to her neck and threw her in the river, but I untied the rope and helped her to shore. The lord had himself carried into Renalda’s house and tried to stab her with his rapier, but I shielded her and she was unharmed. The lord smashed her spinning wheel, but I fixed it in the night, and the next day she continued spinning. The soldiers tied her up and stood guard, but I enchanted them to fall asleep and I untied her. The soldiers pulled up all the nettles and burned them, but I helped the earth to grow new ones right up through the floor of the cottage so Renalda could go on spinning.

           “Eventually, the lord’s wife discovered why her husband was so sick, and she asked Renalda to stop spinning. The lord grew well, but still he refused to allow Renalda to marry the hunter. The hunter left on a long trip, and Renalda grew sad and lonely.

“I could not bear to see what the lord had done to Renalda, so I caused him to become ill again. He grew more and more sick, and he cried out for death, but found he could not die. He realized he could not die without his shroud, so he asked Renalda to finish it for him. As she sewed, he felt less pain, and as she finished it, he died. The hunter returned, and he and Renalda were married.”

I felt very confused. “How is that a happy ending? You killed a man!”

“Perhaps,” said the she-elf, the smile still on her face, “but is it any less cruel than the things he had done to so many others?”

Author's Note

I'm serious about finishing this book and making it appealing to the YA audience -- please help me polish it!