Sparrond had endured a difficult winter.  He was now ready for the drops of sunlight which descended from the dawn sky to alight on Butternut Drumlin.  As the sun rose higher in the sky, the land hummed with the business of humans.  They usually did not bother Sparrond much, since he lived in a slightly higher dimension than those densely furious beings.

The only thing that might compromise the safety of his home would be the physical destruction of the big, spoon-shaped hill known as Butternut Drumlin. The drumlin was protected by the lush fields and woodlands of Jaybury Common; but if the humans should decide to turn their restless gaze upon the land and begin their “building process”, the spirit of the sacred hill and its surroundings would be altered in such a way that the elves could not ignore.  They would then need to leave the drumlin that had been their home for thousands of elven-years.

The elves had banded together with their cousin-beings, the faeries, to send “whispers of peace” into the ears of the humans about the sacred nature of the drumlin.  Sparrond knew that they had been at least partially successful—there were amongst the humans a significant number who could be considered the third-dimensional guardians of Butternut Drumlin.  They showed up in large numbers whenever it was suggested by their government that the drumlin be either built over or even swept out of the way to make way for hundreds of human homes.  The guardians had managed to obtain a special status for both the drumlin and the common.  The humans referred to it now as a “park”, and as such it was not supposed to be used as a building site for endless dwellings.

Sparrond would never want to deny any human family a home to live in, but it was simply that it should not be built on sacred ground.  If the drumlin and its surrounding lands were ever destroyed, the elves and faeries alike would be obliged to move their sacred homestead to a new and unblemished land.  Such lands were becoming increasingly harder to find now that the humans had attained a level of technology that gave them the power of creation—and of destruction.

Sparrond and his people lived between two worlds.  Not all spirit creatures did so but the elves of Butternut Drumlin, together with their counterparts, the faeries, had made a choice many centuries ago to inhabit the higher and lower dimensions simultaneously.  For the most part, the little beings were invisible to humans but there were exceptions, people who sensed the “extra” aspects of reality that others did not.

Today, Sparrond had come to infuse energy into the crowd of humans who stood with hand-painted signs in their hands.  In the human world, they were known as “protestors”.  In Sparrond’s world, they were known as “guardians”.  A young girl stood before the group, surveying them with satisfaction.  Marchelle Clairen was an adolescent, but she possessed the presence of a much older person.  She had a clear vision of the future and was confident enough to work toward that vision in an uncompromising way.  She was just what Sparrond and his people needed.

She called to her own people, her raven-black hair blowing in the wind.  They ceased their chatter and looked at her with respect as she outlined their plan of action for today.  Marchelle’s dark skin contrasted with her green eyes, lending her an element of mysticism and myth.  Her ears even tapered ever so slightly into points, giving her an almost elven appearance.  Marchelle had another characteristic that caused her to be Sparrond’s top choice as Primary Human Contact:  she had an uncanny ability to perceive elves and to hear their voices. 

“The Destroyers are approching, Marchelle!” Sparrond whispered into her ear. “Warn the guardians not to lose their sense of calm.”

“Oh, just you shush up, Sparrond!” Marchelle snapped back at him. “I know they’re coming and so does everyone else.  We are ready for ‘em.  We’re just going to hold our heads up high and tell them to cast their sights elsewhere.  They are not going to build any closer to Butternut Drumlin than they already have.  We’re drawing the line, and by the way, I don’t need an elf telling me what to do!”

“Very well,” Sparrond conceded in an exasperated manner. “Don’t take my advice, then.”

Before Marchelle had a chance to retort to the elf’s comment, a man in a bulldozer drove up to the crowd, stopped just short of them, and hopped out.

“Hey there, Honey,” the man said to Marchelle somewhat condescendingly. “You and your folks need to skid-daddle out of here.  We have work to do...and no, we won’t disturb your precious drumlin.  We aren’t building that far. We’re well within our limits, and it won’t disturb the parkland.  The company wants to build a group of homes that will be known as the ‘Butternut Park Estates’.”

“And we’re saying ‘no’ to those estates, Charlie,” Marchelle responded firmly. “They’re building too close to the drumlin.  They’ll chase away the wildlife and encroach upon their habitat.  We want to keep Jaybury Common as a commons for the people.”

“Yeah, they will be for the people,” Charlie argued. “The people who will be buying up these houses.”

“And those will be rich Fat-Cats!” a grey-bearded man called out. “They’ll want to turn Jaybury Common into a golf course!”

“It’s okay, Bullrush!” Marchelle soothed the man, whose real name was Buster Rush.

“Bullrush—that’s a good name for you, Bus, since you’re so full of bull...” Charlie taunted the fellow in a not-so-good-natured fashion.

“Charlie Evanston—just you keep your trap shut!” Marchelle retorted angrily before Bullrush could respond. “You’re trying to provoke us, but you won’t succeed.  Right, Bullrush?”

Bullrush looked as though he wanted to walk over and punch Charlie, but he stayed where he was and simply nodded.

“Besides,” Marchelle added in a saucy fashion, “if your bull-dozer comes any further, Charlie, you and your guys will be dozing in the “bull”...because you’ll have to contend with the elves and faeries who live here.  You’d better know right now, they won’t make it easy for you!”

Charlie threw back his head and howled in laugher.

“Fairies and elves!” he chortled, along with his chuckling cohorts. “Sounds like you’ve been watching one too many cartoons, Missy; but this is the real world, not the Land of Rainbows and Pink Unicorns.  We don’t want to have to bring in the cops on you, kid...so why don’t you be a good guru and lead your nature-cult fans out of our way?  We’ve got serious work to do!”

Marchelle looked at Charlie with a gleam in her eye.

“Don’t say we didn’t warn you,” she told him as she gestured to her fellow guardians to give way to the men and the bulldozers.                                  

2: Chapter Two: Wheels Spinning in the Mud

Marchelle and Bullrush watched as Charlie’s bulldozer spun its wheels in the mud.  Charlie and his men were becoming more and more frustrated with their inability to move forward, as even the tracked dozers were now mired.  Finally, Charlie Evanston clambered out of his machine and stalked over to where Marchelle and Bullrush were standing.

“This stuff is like quicksand! Did you do this, Marchelle Clairen?” he asked angrily, “You did threaten us earlier.”

“I didn’t threaten you,” Marchelle corrected him. “I warned you.”

“’Bout fairies and elves, I know,” Charlie retorted. “But the only thing that looks like an elf around here is you...and I have to suspect that you’ve somehow brought this marshy mud-stuff in here for the occasion.”

“How would I have done that, Charlie?” Marchelle asked him pointedly. “I’m a seventeen-year-old high school student, not a wealthy man with plenty of machinery and resources.”

“If you think I’m wealthy, you better think again, Honey!” Charlie growled. “I’ve got a pregnant wife and three more kids to feed, and that’s how come I gotta do this job.  If it were up to me, I might be lying down on a Florida beach somewhere, but as it is I have to work to survive.  How about you...you got an after-school job, at least? Or are you taxing your parents’ money with this environmentally-friendly stuff?”

      “Don’t you talk nasty to Marchelle, ‘Dozer-Man!” Bullrush defended his young friend. “She’s someone who’s willing to fight for what she believes in—not just do things automatically, like a lot of the thought-programmed proletariat!”

“Proletariat? You’re coming dangerously close to sounding like a pinko, Bus!” Charlie scoffed.

“Okay, okay, guys, that’s enough!” Marchelle admonished them. “Charlie, I know you’ve got a family to support...I get that.  I don’t want to prevent you from earning your well-deserved wages, but all the wild areas are getting swallowed up by ‘progress’ and that’s no good, from anyone’s perspective! We’re not saying, ‘Don’t build’—we’re just saying, ‘Don’t build here’.  This is sacred land for the elves and the faeries, as well as for the non-human life that is supported here.  You say you need to support your family...that’s absolutely right...and The Others need to support theirs as well!”

“Hey, Marshy, Honey,” Charlie told her, his tone gentler than it had been earlier. “You need to come out of the clouds if you want the bigwigs to listen to you.  I’m not unsympathetic to your cause—I want lots of wild-life places so that I can take my son hunting when he gets older.  But people like us don’t really get a vote in this world anymore.  If you want to demonstrate, do it in town.  Don’t take it out on us workers...we’re just a bunch of dumb guys following our marching orders! Go to the politicians’ offices...but if you’re going to talk to them, don’t say anything about the little fairies or they won’t take you seriously.  Even if you tell ‘em all about the nice bunnies and birds and bugs that live in The Common, they’ll just say that human beings’ homes are more important than the animals’ home.”

“But don’t you see?” Marchelle objected. “It isn’t a contest between animals and human beings...it’s not about who’s more important than whom.  Even the human community is inter-woven into the natural world, whether it wants to believe it or not! The Indigenous community knew that, before the white man arrived on this continent...”

“Hey, don’t bust my chops about that, Hon!” Charlie interrupted. “I can’t control what my crazy white-guy ancestors did hundreds of years ago! What do I look like, a time-machine expert?”

“Hey, Charlie,” Marchelle soothed him. “I’m not blaming you, okay? I think you’re right, though; we need to bring this straight to City Hall.”         

 

3: Chapter Three: The Council of Elves and Faeries

Chief Councilor Sparrond Sleepwinter sat on his Light-chair and surveyed the individuals who comprised the Council of Elves and Faeries.  There were seven females and seven males, including himself and his Life-Friend, Sparrow Lightgreen.  Sparrow sat beside him, her light blue hair stirring gently in the breeze and her lavender eyes radiating a no-nonsense approach.

“Well, then,” Sparrond announced as the others flitted about, trying to decide where to cast their light so that it formed into a suitable seat for themselves, “If you’re all finished Light-casting cozy nests for your Airy-Faerie derrieries, I’d like to get started...Marreke, Ablom, Jannah, Myarta, Willowe, and Carriseed; and, Marroney, Karshta, Aislande, Charlok, Questard, and Leife! Let’s go!”

The six Faeries and four Elves situated themselves into their respective positions in the Sacred Circle formation, alighting on their newly created, flower-like chairs.  In addition to the Senior Councilors were two young Junior Councilors who were both Faerie-Elf hybrid beings known as “Eaeries”.  The two siblings named Carriseed and Willowe settled into the circle last of all, waiting respectfully for their elders to assume the important positions.  Sparrond clicked his light-wings in annoyance, signifying that he felt they had all taken too long to find their positions.

“It’s just that we needed to find the right places for this important meeting, Sparrond,” Myarta, a Faerie, explained, “You know how crucial placement is around the Circle.”

“Well, never mind that.  I don’t care if you settle upside-down in a bubble-stone!” Sparrond replied irritably, “The Destroyers may be on their way as we speak. We need to develop a better plan of action than simply miring their Gruff-Jabbers in the mud!”

The “Gruff-Jabbers”, or “Bulldozers” as the Humans called them, had been successfully squelched into the marsh-mud that the Faeries had supplied, but Sparrond knew that the trap would not last for long.  The Humans were very resourceful and would no doubt come back with reinforcements.  Their Roar-Dragons could be on the War-Path within minutes.  Sparrond knew that these Human creatures must not be underestimated.

With his fellow councilors seated at last, Sparrond began to explain it to them.

“So, the situation is that the Destroyers are on their way to build more houses and to destroy more land.  We told them, through the Human Guardians, where the boundary was—that is, the line drawn, past which they could not build—and they have now ignored that boundary by sending in their Gruff-Jabbers.”

“Why have they done this?” Questard, an elderly Elf, asked plaintively, “We have done nothing to harm them.  We trusted that they would keep their end of the agreement.”

“Agreements in the Human world are not always kept,” Sparrond reminded them, “and since we have to communicate with them through our Primary Human Contact, the young girl Marchelle, they may not feel that their word is binding.”

“What kind of message is that to send to a young person?” Jannah, a Faerie, demanded angrily, “Do these Humans not wish to teach their young about honouring one’s word?”

“Young ones do not have much power in the Human world,” Sparrow explained to Jannah, who was a relatively young person herself, “so we mustn’t blame Marchelle.  She is trying her best to get her elders to listen.”

“I wasn’t blaming Marchelle,” Jannah replied, “I was blaming her elders.”

“Blaming them won’t solve anything, Jannah,” Sparrow told her softly, “what we need to do is to send a message to the people...something that they would understand, but which would not threaten their sense of security.  I believe that they build excessive numbers of homes because they think it will give them more safety, much as a nest houses vulnerable baby birds.”

 Sparrond regarded his Life-Friend fondly. Sparrow was a deeply thoughtful and compassionate being. Her Light-path was to be the Guardian of Birds, and she took the responsibility very seriously.  The Birds needed trees; and Jaybury Common, as the Humans called it, had many trees that would be cut down if their current building project was to go ahead.

The Elven name for the Common was J’Hai-A-tri, which meant, “The Place where Birds and Trees Come Together”.  As such, the birds and the trees could not be separated from each other, according to The Elven Light-Law.  The Faeries had a similar law; but it was easier for the Elves and Faeries than it was for Humans, because they could build their homes from the sunlight.  The homes were like golden bubbles, and they could hang from the highest tree or be cast into the deepest ground-burrow, and they would still be as one.  No tree needed to be cut down and no ground needed to be overturned to make room for the homes of the Light-Children.

Sparrond wished it were that simple for the Humans.  They, however, had endured very difficult lives in the dense spiritual thicket that was the Third Dimension.  They had become lost in their own need to survive, both physically and emotionally.  It was no easy task to get through to them.

“I think I might know of a way to get a message across to them,” the young Eaerie named Carriseed interjected hesitantly, “but it would mean that we would have to make ourselves visible to the Humans.”

“That,” Carriseed’s Elven father Questard proclaimed, “is impossible, my son.”

“We would make ourselves visible to Humans by fully expressing our Light,” Carriseed continued, “It would be seen by them as little orbs of Light, and we could appear before a large number of Humans and express this Light.”

“Ah, yes, my son,” Questard responded, “but you see, while Faeries can light up an area, we Elves cannot; and even the Faeries’ Light can only be seen by certain sensitive Humans.”

“But that’s where we can help, Sire!” Carriseed countered Questard excitedly, using the formal Elven name “sire” for “father”, “We can teach both Elves and Faeries to fully express their Light, for we Eaeries are a combination of both Elves and Faeries! My sister Willowe and I can do things that only Faeries are capable of, but we can also perform feats as only Elves can—communicating thoughts directly to Other Beings, for example.”

“That’s right, Questard!” Myarta, the young Eaeries’ mother, interjected, “I’ve told you many times that the Eaeries can do things that are characteristic of both the Elves and the Faeries.”

“Hmm,” Questard replied cautiously, “but even so, there are not many Eaeries in existence.  Carriseed and Willowe are the only two that I know of, other than the Old Loner Eaerie, Eachpek...and I don’t think he could light up much, even on a bright, sunny afternoon!”

“We can teach all of you to express your light,” Willowe, the second Eaerie proclaimed, “We’ve done so with our friends...have we not, Dama Myarta?”

Myarta nodded in response to Willowe’s name for her, “Dama”, which meant “mother” in the Faerish language.

“It’s true,” Myarta concurred with her daughter, “Willowe and Carriseed have been teaching me to light up in such a way as to be visible to Humans.”

Sparrond and Sparrow sat up and took notice when Myarta made this statement.

“Do you think you could teach all of the Elves and Faeries, Willowe and Carriseed?” Sparrow asked the eager youngsters.

“Absolutely, Guardian Sparrow,” Willowe agreed, “I know we can.”

Sparrond and Sparrow regarded one another, their eyes glinting with mischief.

“Very well,” Sparrond announced, relieved to have found at least one definite course of action, “We will all begin Light-Training with the two Eaeries, Carriseed and Willowe, at this very moment.”              

        

               

4: Chapter Four: The Furious Birthday

Marchelle entered the house quietly, hoping to avoid being noticed.  She was home very late from school today because she had been meeting with other students in order to organize a big protest at City Hall as soon as possible, before the construction on Jaybury Common began.

She had completely forgotten that Uncle Norris was visiting today and that she had been expected to help her mother with the supper.  The family generally ate at five o’clock, and it was now close to six.

She tip-toed in guiltily, hoping that she could slide by the kitchen and escape to her room in order to prepare her game plan for the protest.  Before she had even reached the kitchen, however, her mother was upon her.

Sherryl Clairen was of a darker complexion than her daughter and was less tall in stature.  A slim, short woman, she made up for it with an attitude that was seven feet tall.

“Marchelle Clairen, I have had it up to here with your being late!” she scolded her in a raised voice, “You knew Uncle Norris was coming, and that we were having a special birthday dinner for him at five sharp! Don’t try to tell me you forgot!”

Marchelle slapped her forehead, angry at herself for not remembering Uncle Norris’s birthday.  She knew better than to try to defend herself, however.  She had learned over time that it was wiser to let Mom rant until she was finished saying what she had to say.

“How much has Uncle Norris done for you, young lady?” Sherryl continued, using Marchelle’s silence to drive home her point in as guilt-inducing a manner as was possible, “He’s been at every single birthday party that you’ve ever had, and he’s never failed to give you a gift.  I don’t suppose you remembered to pick him up a packet of tobacco for his pipe?”

“Uh...” Marchelle began lamely, “No...I...uh...wouldn’t have been able to buy it anyway, because I’m underage...aren’t I? Besides, smoking is bad for his health.”

“Don’t you give me your excuses!” Sherryl interrupted her, “You could have picked him up some playing cards, or some chocolates, or a toy train for his collection...”

Marchelle’s mind felt as though it were spinning.  Why had she forgotten to pick something...anything...up for Uncle Norris?

“I’m sorry, Mom,” she apologized, but before she could offer to apologize to Uncle Norris, Sherryl was attacking her like a verbal Pit Bull.

“It’s Uncle Norris that you need to be apologizing to!” she shouted furiously.

As if summoned, Uncle Norris poked his gray-haired head around the corner to see if he could calm his younger sister Sherryl’s frayed nerves.

“Is someone caterwauling about me?” he asked innocently, “Sherryl, give the girl a break! I’m still having my coffee and pie...I can visit with Marchelle while she eats her supper.  Don’t let your fury turn my birthday into a train wreck...I’d sooner she was late than that you were angry.”

“No supper for this girl!” Sherryl told him bluntly, “There need to be consequences for this kind of irresponsible behavior. You get to your room right now, Marchelle!”

Marchelle had endured enough.  She was tired of being contrite.

“All right, then!” she screamed, throwing her jacket off and stalking towards her bedroom.

“Marchelle, that’s it,” Sherryl stated, her fury spent now, “these environmental protests have taken over your life.  You’re not to do any more for another six weeks—consider yourself grounded in that regard.  I’m tired of your attitude, and I’m sick of you coming in late for everything.  You need to take your family into account sometimes, and you’re not going to learn how to do that if I don’t give you a bit of discipline.”

“But...Mom!” Marchelle cried, now close to tears, “You don’t understand! These protests are very important...”

“So is your family!” Sherryl boomed angrily, her ire invoked once more by Marchelle’s objections.

Marchelle felt like her chest was going to explode, she was so upset.

“Mom, you don’t understand!” she screamed, before running to her room in tears.              

5: Chapter Five: Trapped By Structure

Marchelle lay quietly on her bed, reviewing in her mind what had just taken place between herself and her mother.  How could she make her mother understand? If she could not, she would need to find a way to direct the protests from a distance, which was fraught with difficulty.  She could disobey her mother’s grounding order and do the work of protesting secretly, but she did not relish that thought.  Because of the public nature of the protests, it would not be long before her mother found out...and then it would be a total disaster for all concerned.

She was deeply frustrated.  She desperately needed to contact Sparrond to tell him that she was at present “incapacitated”, but in order to do so she needed to go to a wild spot like Jaybury Common.  Sparrond would not come to her when she tried to contact him from within a Human building.  Somehow, the “structural” atmosphere kept him out.

I’m supposed to be Primary Human Contact, she thought to herself, and here I am shut off from the Elves and Faeries of Butternut Drumlin!

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Marchelle called out in a listless tone.

Uncle Norris poked his head through the door-way cautiously, before pulling the rest of him into the room.

“Hey, there, Elf-Girl,” he greeted her in as jovial a fashion as possible under the circumstances, “I have your mother’s permission to be here.  I just wanted to say ‘hi’ and ‘bye’.  I wish we could have had a longer conversation.”

Marchelle jumped up to give her Uncle a hug.

“Uncle Norris, I’m so sorry!” she told him truthfully, “I feel like a flea for missing your birthday.”

“Don’t worry, Hon,” he said reassuringly, “You’re the one flea I don’t mind bugging me...and, by the way, I want to let you know that I support you in the good work you’re doing for the natural world.  Your Mom does, too; but at times it’s hard to see that.”

“I know she loves me,” Marchelle conceded, “and that’s why she does this ‘tough love’ thing...but, really, sometimes I wish she would try the ‘soft’ variety once in a while.”

Uncle Norris nodded, and then looked out the door, as if making sure no one was there to listen to what he had to say.

“Marchelle,” he told her softly, “I have a message for you...from an Elf named Sparrond.”

Marchelle stared at her Uncle in disbelief.

“What...you mean...you can hear Sparrond, too, Uncle Norris?”

“I’ve been hearing the little guys since I was a kid,” Uncle Norris admitted, “I never told anyone, though...until now.  I was afraid people would think I was crazy.”

“Where did you hear him?” Marchelle asked eagerly.

“I heard him in Jaybury Common,” Uncle Norris replied, “I go there for a walk every morning to clear my head.  Sparrond is new to me, because I always talked to a grumpy guy that was part Faerie and part Elf.  Eachpek started speaking to me about fifty-five years ago, when I was only five years old.  He told me that he wanted me to be a Guardian of the Common; and so I’d run around the area, hiking up Butternut Drumlin and pretending to guard it from ‘the bad guys’, who never really showed up.  I figured it was because I was doing such a good job guarding it!”

“When I was about fifteen,” he continued, “Eachpek told me that one day I would have a young girl around me who would help in a very big way.  I thought maybe he was talking about a future daughter that I would have, but Mabel and I only had sons.  After I got married and had little ones I forgot all about ol’ Eachpek, to be honest with you.  I didn’t start talking to him again until my kids were grown and had left the nest.  He was plenty mad at me, I can tell you! Since then I’ve been trying to help in little ways, sending letters to the Editor in support of keeping the Drumlin area unblemished by Human endeavour.  Then my little sister Sherryl gave birth to you, and I just knew you were The One.  You even had little “points” on your ears, like an Elf!”

“That’s amazing, Uncle Norris! I’ve never even heard of Eachpek,” Marchelle admitted, “Sparrond never told me there were people who were both Faerie and Elf.  But what was the message?”

“The message was that the Elves and Faeries of Butternut Drumlin are learning how to shine their light really strong, so that ordinary Humans can see them.  There are a couple of young Faerie-Elf kids who are teaching the older ones how to do it.  The Humans will see them more as little dots of light, but they will be able to see them.  They’re hoping that they can meet you at Jaybury Common tomorrow and go with you to the more populated areas of the town.  They want you and the other Guardians to give the towns-people their message about keeping the space around Butternut Drumlin sacred.”

“Uncle Norris, you know that I can’t do that!” Marchelle fretted, “Mom will be watching me...but what about you? Could you be the Sacred Go-Between for me and Sparrond?”

“That was what I was thinking,” Uncle Norris agreed, “Maybe now is the time for me to do something more than just write letters to the Editor.”

Marchelle smiled, regarding her Uncle Norris in a conspiratorial manner.

“I will need you to do something, though, too,” he added.

“Anything!” Marchelle exclaimed, “I’ll go crazy if I can’t help somehow.”

“I need you to make peace with your Mom,” Uncle Norris responded, “and make her understand how important this work is, not only to you but to everybody in this town.”

Marchelle stared at him, flabbergasted.  Anything but that! She thought ruefully, Uncle Norris has just asked me to do the impossible.                             

                             

6: Chapter Six: Sparrond's Message

Sparrond waited impatiently for Marchelle to arrive for their weekly meeting atop Butternut Drumlin.  He had heard nothing from the young Human for the past week, and it worried him.  Marchelle never missed a rendez-vous. 

In desperation, he had gone to an older Human named Norris to ask him whether he would give a message to Marchelle.  Norris came every day to Jaybury Common in order to hike up the Drumlin.  Sparrond had never before attempted to contact him, but he knew that the Old Eaerie, Eachpek, had first initiated contact with Norris when the Human was a child.  In addition, the old man was Marchelle’s direct relative—he had heard Marchelle refer to him as Uncle Norris.

Sparrond was nonetheless not sure about Norris.  Eachpek had become disillusioned with Humans when the young man had grown up and stopped communicating with him, shortly after Norris had wedded his Life-Friend and had begun the process of raising their children.  Sparrond realized that the Humans’ tendency towards a loss of receptivity after having transitioned into adulthood was entirely understandable, as the raising of young ones required a tremendous amount of energy.  Child-rearing was acknowledged to be one of the most sacred duties in the Elven community. 

Eachpek, however, had never had a Life-Friend and had never reproduced.  He did not understand the perspective of being a new parent and subsequently became surly and ill-tempered after Norris had “abandoned” him. To everyone’s disappointment, the quest to teach the Humans how to become better stewards of their own environment had been stalled.  Eachpek later foretold the arrival of a new Human Contact, but by the time Marchelle had been born and was old enough to begin a conversation with the Elves of Butternut Drumlin, Eachpek had grown weary of the task.  He delegated the new task to Sparrond because he believed that he had failed in his communications with Norris, even though Norris and he had resumed their conversation after the big Human’s Life-Friend had passed away into the Other World several Earth-years ago.  Still, Eachpek was tired, and he wished for the younger generation to take on more responsibility for this difficult mission.

The young Eaeries Willowe and Carriseed were now busy taking on some of these responsibilities by teaching the Faeries and Elves how to shine their lights more brightly.  Sparrond suspected that at one time they all knew how to do this naturally; but they were living their lives in such close proximity to the Humans that their talents had been somewhat dimmed.

As he entertained this rather uncomplimentary thought towards the Humans, a man loomed nearby and then came into his presence.  Sparrond was disappointed that Marchelle was not here, but he shifted his mental attitude immediately in order to facilitate the communication with Norris. 

“Norris!” he exclaimed, “Where is Marchelle?”

Norris was a large man, and he was panting from the exertion of having hiked up Butternut Drumlin. He took a few minutes to catch his breath.

“Marchelle is grounded,” Norris explained as he sat down on a log, “that means that her mother, Sherryl, is fed up with her coming in late for supper.  She’s been working very hard to inspire the students at her school to participate in a protest at City Hall...and...well, one night she missed my birthday dinner.  I didn’t mind because I knew that it was for a good cause, but her Mom didn’t see it that way.  She told Marchelle that she can’t organize her protests for another six weeks.”

“Yes, but...” replied Sparrond, flabbergasted, “I realize that a mother’s duty is sacred, but does Sherryl not realize the tremendous importance of Marchelle’s work?”

“Well, she does, but she also sees the tremendous importance of family; and when Marchelle forgets about that, Sherryl becomes the Hawk from Hades.  She sees the sacred duty of family getting lost...again and again.”

“Could Marchelle speak with her mother?” Sparrond asked, becoming more frustrated by the minute, “Can she explain to her the dire consequences of not letting her daughter continue this most sacred work?”

“That’s the challenge I left her with,” Norris agreed, “and it’s no small task.  I tried to reason with Sherryl, but when my sister gets mad there’s not much point.  Marchelle knows that she needs to let her cool down a bit before she approaches her.  In the mean time, I guess you guys are stuck with me.  Marchelle wants me to be the Human-Elf/Faerie go-between while she’s out of commission.”

Sparrond realized that they didn’t have much choice in this matter.  He had been willing to mentor a young person partly because she would not have as many competing responsibilities such as an occupation and offspring; but one of the problems with this was that young people were under the auspices of their elders.  If a parent decided that they were not to continue with the Sacred Work, it put everyone in a difficult position.  He could only hope that Marchelle would be able to put things right with her mother and come to join them.

“Norris, I realize that organizing groups of people and leading them into action is not your thing,” Sparrond told him, “but is it possible that you could round up a bunch of Humans and convince them to walk with their signs from Jaybury Common to the City Hall?”

“I can,” Norris replied cautiously, “but I’ll need at least a few days.  The bull-dozer guys haven’t come back since they got stuck in the mud, have they?”

“No,” Sparrond responded, “but there have been surveyors arriving to inspect the area, and the Faeries’ magic in turning the ground into a bog is only temporary.  They won’t be able to do it indefinitely without turning the area into a real bog, and I don’t think we want to do that.  The Humans need to see the Common and the Drumlin as “parkland” space where they can enjoy walking with their children and their dogs.”

“All right,” Norris responded, “I’ll let Marchelle know that we’re going ahead with the plan.  She’ll no doubt already be in touch with people through the internet...if her mother will allow that.”

Norris hurried back down the Drumlin trail in order to do Sparrond’s bidding.                

7: Chapter Seven: Willowe's Quest

Sparrond surveyed the progress of the two young Eaeries’ Light-Classes.  Sparrow, Sparrond’s Life-Friend, was supervising the youngsters’ teaching session.  She had also managed to convince the elderly Eachpek to come and help them.  Sparrow flitted over to her mate, followed by Eachpek.

“Sparrow finally talked you into helping us, Eachpek?” Sparrond asked, in the manner of a rhetorical question to the old Eaerie.

“You all interrupted my morning nap with your ceaseless demands,” Eachpek grumbled.

“I didn’t know that one demand equaled ceaselessness,” Sparrond retorted drily.

“You are becoming more like a Human by the day, Sparrond,” Eachpek taunted him irritably.

“Stop it, both of you,” Sparrow scolded them, “Sparrond, what of Marchelle?”

“She is being disciplined by her mother,” Sparrond explained, “for missing Norris’ Day-of-Birth ceremony.  She is not allowed to help us for six weeks; but her relative, Norris Clairen, has agreed to step in and take her place.  He will inform her of what we are doing, and she may be able to send messages to her friends through that techno-gadget that Humans use these days, called the “In-terre-net”.  I don’t know what it is, exactly, but I think it may send signals out by traveling under the ground.”

“No, that’s not what it is, Young Elf!” Eachpek countered, “Norris told me it was...well, I don’t know, but it certainly doesn’t work under the ground.  I think the signals travel through the air.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Sparrow chided them, “What matters is that we are ready to join with the Humans in their protest.  Can Norris organize one of those? Eachpek told me that organizing people into groups is not a gift of his.”

“Norris will never do it,” Eachpek confirmed Sparrow’s statement, “he has a willing heart, but he tends to be all talk and no action.  All that he’s done so far is to write letters to someone he calls The Add-It-Or.  I think that’s a person who cries out the news to others in the community in the form of Human Hieroglyphics.  Norris sometimes inserts our Drumlin demands into it—in other words, he adds it—or not.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Sparrow commented.

“I have confidence in him—he’ll do it,” Sparrond told them firmly, “He knows what’s at stake.”

The two young Eaeries, Willowe and Carriseed, flew over to where their elders were conferring.

“Excuse me, Elders,” Carriseed interjected somewhat shyly, “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I think we’ve finally managed to teach the basics to the Elven-Faerie community.  There is one problem, however:  the Elves and the Faeries have been engaging in arguments between each other.  The Elves feel that they should take the lead in this important venture into the Human community, while the Faeries feel that they are best qualified to lead.”

“Well,” Sparrond replied sharply, “If they can’t come to an agreement, tell them that neither group is going to lead.  You and your sister, along with Eachpek, will lead, since you are all both Faerie and Elf, mixed into one.”

“They’ll never accept Eaeries as leaders,” Eachpek snorted, “We belong to neither group.”

“Exactly,” Sparrow agreed, “and that is why Sparrond is correct! You and the young ones must lead, Eachpek.  Don’t worry—Sparrond and I will be right behind you.”

Willowe buzzed her light-wings, hesitant to speak but yet eager to add her voice to the discussion.

“Willowe, do you have something to say?” Sparrow encouraged her, “It is important for you to contribute to this conversation.”

“Yes, Guardian Sparrow,” Willowe answered, “I do wish to say something.  I sensed the conversation of Chief Councilor Sparrond as he spoke with the Human, Norris, today.  I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but as I was expressing my light it came to me through telepathy.  Is it true that Primary Contact Marchelle has been restricted by her mother from participating in the protest within the Human settlement?”

“Yes,” Sparrond replied, impressed by the young Eaerie’s skill, “that’s true.  You sensed everything that Norris and I said to each other? At the same time as you were teaching everyone to shine their light more brightly?”

“That was part of teaching everyone to shine their lights more brightly.  When I knew the conversation, then they knew the conversation...and that’s when the arguing began.  The Faeries thought that without Marchelle to help us, we would need a stronger light out in front.  The Elves objected because they didn’t like to be seen as being “less” of the Light.  It tried to explain that it didn’t work like that.  We are all part of the Light and there is no “less” or “more”, but they didn’t see it that way.  Then, when they began to argue, their lights automatically dimmed.  I feel that the only way to counteract this is for me to go immediately to Marchelle, inside her family structure.  I need to help her to communicate more effectively with her mother so that she will let Marchelle come and lead the protest.  Eachpek and Carriseed can stay here and continue to teach the others, but I must go now...and so, Chief Councilor Sparrond, I need your permission to attempt entry into the world of Human structure.”

“Do you think you can do that?” Sparrond asked, incredulous.

When Willowe nodded, Sparrond looked at his mate Sparrow for advice.

“Yes,” Sparrow said on the Chief Councilor’s behalf, “she can.  And I will accompany her on the quest, Sparrond.”

The decision having been made, Sparrow and Willowe set out immediately to accomplish their task.

             

 

 

8: Chapter Eight: Orbs of Light

Marchelle lay on her bed listlessly, tapping her finger to the music that the CD was playing.  She was only half-listening, as her computer had been confiscated by her mother.  Sherryl did not want Marchelle to contact her friends over the internet, and so both computer and cell phone had been taken away.  To her shame, Marchelle had yelled and pounded on the bed, even though she knew it would be rightly taken as childishness by her mother.  Her frustration had been so great, however, that she wasn’t able to contain herself any longer. 

Now she felt like an idiot, for she had undoubtedly shot herself in the foot.

“Why can’t I control my reactions a little better?” she asked out loud, to no one in particular.

“It is a very difficult situation, Marchelle,” a voice rang out, from somewhere in her room.

Marchelle sat bolt upright.

“What the...who’s there?” she shouted, “Show yourself immediately!”

Before her eyes, there materialized two balls of light that slowly and meticulously turned into a couple of Elves, both of whom were obviously female.  The one who appeared older had blue, wispy hair and the other, younger one had what appeared to be red-golden light throughout her hair.  They were both clad in light-green tunics which appeared to be made from non-physical material—she could only surmise that the clothes were created from spirit-leaves.  Marchelle was shocked, for she had only ever seen or spoken to Sparrond, whom she had always perceived as being male.  Normally she only heard Sparrond’s voice when he contacted her, and only ever at Jaybury Common, or J’hai-A-tri as the elves referred to it.  Even when she had been able to see Sparrond, he came to her as a blurry little figure and not with nearly the same clarity that this pair could be seen.

“Marchelle,” the older Elf began, “I am Sparrow, the Life-Friend of Sparrond...”

“Sparrond never told me he had a wife!” Marchelle exclaimed incredulously, “That little Imp!”

“He never mentioned me?” replied Sparrow, “Well, I’ll have to upbraid him for that when I see him next.  In the mean time, Marchelle, I have come with a young Eaerie named Willowe Marshroot—she is an Elf-Faerie who has an Elven father and a Faerie mother.  She has been teaching us how to appear more brightly so that we can be visible to Humans.  Willowe, this is Marchelle Clairen, the Primary Human Contact.” 

“Good day, Marchelle,” Willowe greeted her, “I’m greatly honoured to meet you.  Sparrow and I are here to help you speak to your mother.  We understand that she will not allow you to go with us to into the Human settlement to protest the building on our Sacred Ground.  I believe I may be able to help you...I am a young being myself, and I often have disagreements with my parents, Questard and Myarta.  I am able to resolve these disputes more easily by sending love-light towards my parents.”

Marchelle looked at the little Eaerie in surprise.  The young girl’s magic might work well with Elf-Faerie parents, but how could she possibly help a Human girl with her Mom? Willowe was well-intentioned, but she had no idea about how to deal with Sherryl Clairen.  She would blow the tiny creature away, if indeed she could even hear her.

“I really appreciate it, Willowe,” she responded, touched that the Eaerie felt compelled to help her, “but I don’t think you know my Mom.  I forgot about Uncle Norris’ birthday supper, and that’s a real no-no in this household.  You don’t forget Uncle Norris’ birthday celebration and get away with it.  She’s not going to change her mind...believe me, I’ve tried to reason with her.”

“We won’t be trying to argue with your mother,” Willowe explained, “Sparrow and I will just be shining our light on you while you express your own light-voice to her...help her to see what it is that’s special about J’hai-A-tri and Butternut Drumlin.”

“Well...thanks, you guys,” Marchelle replied dubiously, “but I just don’t think that’ll be enough to convince her.  I’ve been speaking very passionately to her in order to get her to change her mind, but she keeps on ignoring what I say.  I’m really sorry...it’s my fault for not having remembered Uncle Norris’ birth-date.  Luckily, my Uncle doesn’t hold it against me; and hopefully he can keep the protest alive.  I’ve given him the phone numbers of my main supporters as well as fellow students who want to participate.  Uncle Norris is friends with one of my best protestors, Buster Rush, or Bullrush as he’s known to the community.  He will help Norris get off his butt and organize.  If you and Sparrond and your gang can team up with Bullrush and Norris, you will no doubt manage to get a mixture of bright-lights and Humans to City Hall.  That should be enough to get the Mayor’s attention!”

Suddenly, her mother’s voice broke into the conversation from behind the door.

“Marchelle!” she called out, “Who on Earth are you talking to? You better not have that cell phone I just took away from you!”

“No, Mom,” Marchelle answered wearily, “I haven’t got anything.  I’m just talking to a couple of Elves, that’s all.”

The door swung open, and Sherryl Clairen stood staring at her daughter with concern etched upon her face.

“What do you mean, ‘Elves’?” she demanded, “Don’t tell me you’re getting into that Other-World nonsense that your father blabbers on about?”

Marchelle sighed.  Her parents were divorced, but Patrick Connolly visited his daughter regularly.  He had been the one to introduce her to the topic of Elves, Faeries, and the Other-World, and had claimed to have conversations with a Faerie named Ablom Jestchuckle.  Marchelle had dearly loved to hear the stories of the Elves and Faeries when she was a small child, but she had never told her father about her own conversations with Sparrond because she did not want it to become a source of contention between her ever-practical mother and her fantasy-prone father.

Marchelle knew that she should not have mentioned the Elves, but she was feeling so dejected right now that she simply could not help herself.  Besides—it was the truth, after all.

As Marchelle faced her mother she began to feel warmth on her body, that which was being transmitted by the two small beings.  She could see out of the corner of her eye that Sparrow and Willowe were becoming increasingly bright.  Sparrow seemed to emit lavender light while Willowe’s aura was light green.  Both lights were shaped in the form of a sphere.

“What the...” Sherryl stared at the two spheres in consternation.

“Can you see the lights, Mom?” Marchelle asked, flabbergasted.

“Yes,” Sherryl admitted, “I’m trying to figure out how you got them to shine.  Is it some science project you’re working on?”

“No,” Marchelle answered cautiously, “These are the Elves, Mom.  Actually, one of them, the lavender light, is an Elf and the other one is an Elf-Faerie hybrid...their names are Sparrow and Willowe, and they’ve come to help me talk to you.”

Sherryl was distracted by the lights.

“It must be the sunlight coming through the window pane,” she suggested warily, “Don’t be going on about Elves and Faeries, Marchelle.  It reminds me of your father, and I don’t want to be reminded of him right now...he’s driven me crazy enough!”

Marchelle felt a strong pulse of love for her mother surging through her heart, and she felt inspired to attempt communication once again.  This time, she did not mention the Elves.

“Mom, I know that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Marchelle asked her softly, “When I forgot Uncle Norris’ birthday, it reminded you of Dad, didn’t it? That’s why you got so mad...and why you took away something that’s very, very important to me and many other people.”

Sherryl softened somewhat as she reached over to stroke a lock of Marchelle’s thick black hair. 

“Honey, you may not realize it, but I’m very proud of you for the environmental work that you do.  I know you think I’ve been pretty hard on you with this six-week grounding thing, and maybe I have been too tough.  The thing is, I need you to learn to value this family and not go off the rails on your own ventures like Patrick did.  He ended up losing his family over his silly business plans, which were complete pipe dreams—they took up  all of his time and put him in debt to the point where he nearly dragged us all down with him.  I’m sorry, Marchelle.  I know you love to go hiking with him over to the Drumlin, but I don’t want you growing up to be like him.  He’s a wonderful man, but he has absolutely no discipline.  That’s what I’m trying to teach you, Baby Girl.”

“I understand that, Mom,” Marchelle replied quietly, “but you don’t learn discipline by abandoning everyone that’s counting on you to do something.  It’s my responsibility as a leader to lead my friends over to the City Hall within the next few days so that the Mayor understands the importance of not building on the Sacred Land that surrounds Butternut Drumlin.  It’s essential that we go to challenge the development now, before the Drumlin is surrounded by buildings that will affect the wildlife there.  It seems like every piece of wild land these days comes under the threat of the Almighty Bull-Dozer.”

“People need houses, Marchelle,” Sherryl countered, “You can’t protest every building plan that comes along.”

“This isn’t every-plan-that-comes-along, Mom,” Marchelle argued, “It’s sacred land.  It’s infused with spirit, and it needs to survive.  You know I love you, and I love Uncle Norris! I’ll do whatever work you want me to do around the house for the next six weeks; but you have to let me help Uncle Norris with this protest! He’s not a natural organizer, but if you let me help him, then I’d be spending time with him rather than sitting at home in my room doing nothing.  If you want, you can even come along to supervise our protest!”

Sherryl laughed in spite of herself. 

“You are one persuasive girl, you know that?” she said with a chuckle, “Okay, you’ve convinced me with all that talk about leadership and responsibility.  I’ll make an exception for this one protest, on the condition that both your Uncle Norris and I protest right along with you.” 

Marchelle let out a whoop of delight and fell into her mother’s arms, embracing her tightly while the green and lavender orbs of light shone brightly upon the pair.          

           

                    

9: Chapter Nine: City Hall Protest

Marchelle and her mother Sherryl arrived early at City Hall to meet Uncle Norris, Bullrush, and the other Protestors.  Sparrow and Willowe had seemingly disappeared, but Marchelle had no doubt that they would return soon. 

“Have you heard from Sparrond?” Marchelle whispered to Norris while Sherryl was busy speaking to one of the student protestors.

“Not yet,” Norris whispered back, “He will be arriving, though, at an opportune time...and he’ll be bringing his entire community with him.”

Marchelle nodded.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw her friend, old Bullrush, listening intently to their conversation.  She turned to face him, and when he saw his leader peering at him, he ambled over to her.  

“I’ve heard rumors,” he began, “that a few tiny-people may show up at this thing.  I’ve been working all week to find and inspire the ordinary, big people who are interested in coming out to protest, but it hasn’t been easy...at least, not until the rumors started flying around.  Now, it seems, everyone’s signing up because they’re hoping to see some Nature Spirits.  I don’t mean to belittle your beliefs, Marchelle, but do you think maybe some of these folks are coming out for the wrong reason? We’re here to launch a serious protest, not put on a Kiddies’ puppet show.”

Bullrush was a seasoned social activist, and so Marchelle could hardly blame him for being skeptical about the Elves and Faeries.  Still, how had Bullrush found out about it? The participation of the Elves and Faeries of Butternut Drumlin was not supposed to be advertised to the Human Community!

“I...er...may have let it slip to a few people that Sparrond and his group might be making an appearance,” Norris admitted guiltily, “I just thought it would help to bring people out, Marchelle.”

“Well, you’re probably right,” Marchelle replied wearily, “although I was hoping to keep it as a surprise.  I hope that little bum Sparrond doesn’t back out of this thing!”

“Sparrond told me that there was an argument between the Faeries and Elves over which group would lead the way to the protest,” Norris explained, “but Sparrond and his wife Sparrow ended the discussion abruptly by putting two kids and Old Eachpek in charge; and apparently the kids are like Eachpek—half Faerie, half Elf.”

“Yes, I met one of them at home,” Marchelle told him, “Her name was Willowe. She and Sparrow had somehow managed to spirit themselves into my room.  That’s something that Sparrond has never been able to do!  Apparently, she has both Faerie and Elf magic up her sleeve.  Those two girls are the reason that I was able to convince Mom to let me participate in this protest...I’m sure of it.  They sent their light to me while I was speaking to her, and here I am!”

Bullrush was staring at the pair as though they had both lost their minds.  The old man had always tolerated Marchelle’s comments about the Elves because he respected her ability to organize protests; but they all knew that no one believed less in Elves and Faeries than Buster Rush.

“Don’t worry, Bullrush,” Marchelle reassured her elderly friend, “We’ll just proceed as if it’s an all-Human protest, and if some little guys show up—that’ll be a bonus.”

“There’ll be some mighty disappointed spectators if they don’t,” Bullrush muttered, his gaze resting upon a group of kids who were watching nearby.

As the protestors began to arrive, Norris and Marchelle handed out signs with slogans on them that read, “Say No to Development on Jaybury Common! This Land is Sacred” and “Keep Butternut Drumlin A Safe Home for Wildlife!”

Suddenly, a television crew appeared upon the scene with their cameras.  A blonde-haired reporter, primly dressed in a red-and-white suit, strode over to Marchelle and poked a microphone under her nose.

“Marchelle Clairen,” she said, “I’m Martie Devon, from Jaybury City News.  Do you have time for an interview?”

Marchelle nodded.  She was overwhelmed by the request; but she knew that an interview on T.V. would help to get their message across to more people, so she braced herself for the impending inquisition.

“What are you hoping to achieve with today’s protest on City Hall?” Martie Devon asked.

“We want Mayor Barnaby Quinne to hear our concerns,” Marchelle explained, “about keeping Jaybury Common and Butternut Drumlin as parkland space for the people.  This is Sacred Land to many, and it should not be built upon by real estate developers.”

“The Developers say that they will not be building on the Drumlin,” Martie continued, “and that their real estate plans do not infringe upon the public’s use of the trails.”

The more seasoned protestors had begun to wave their placards and chant, “Mayor Quinne, Mayor Quinne, don’t you let bull-dozers in!”

“Yes,” Marchelle conceded, raising her voice in order to speak above the din, “but it will encroach upon the wildlife habitat that surrounds the Drumlin.  The Common must be maintained in its entirety!”

“Some people have said that you’re fighting the developers because you believe Jaybury Common is home to a group of Elves and Faeries...is that correct?”

Marchelle stared at her in shock.  Had the rumors that Uncle Norris put out spread that fast?

“I...uh...” Marchelle stammered, “Well, we’re mainly protesting because of the wild-life...and the parkland must be maintained for people to go hiking and enjoy nature!”

“So you don’t believe that Elves and Faeries are involved in this?” she insisted.

“Well...it doesn’t matter what I think, Ms. Devon,” Marchelle responded lamely, “It matters only for the many Humans who will suffer because the land surrounding Butternut Drumlin will no longer be a commons!”

“And how do you respond to the Counter-Protest people who will be meeting here today with you to demonstrate to Mayor Quinne?”

Marchelle gaped at her, stricken mute with terror.  What Counter-Protest people?

“I...uh, haven’t heard the arguments of the Counter-Protest group,” Marchelle said quickly, ducking away from the reporter to go and consult with Norris and Bullrush.

“What do you know about a Counter-Protest, Bullrush?” Marchelle asked, anxiety lining her voice.

“A Counter-Protest?” Bullrush echoed her, “Aw, shoot! Norris, you shoulda kept your mouth shut about those Faeries and Elves.”

“Oh, no!” Norris exclaimed, “I’m sorry, Marchelle.  This is my fault...I’m just no good at organizing protests.”

“You’ve done fine, Uncle Norris!” Marchelle reassured him, “It’s okay—the Elves and Faeries had to enter into this discussion at some point.  I didn’t exactly keep them a secret when I was talking to the bull-dozer driver, Charlie Evanston.  He probably told a lot of people as well.  If the Counter-Protest group wants to make fun of us about that, though, I think we’d better stop denying our relationship with the little folk...we can’t go around behaving as though we’re ashamed of them.”

“I certainly can,” Bullrush countered, “Marchelle, I respect your beliefs; but Mayor Quinne will never listen to us if we bring the Elves into this!”  

“Even so, Bullrush,” Marchelle explained, “If the Counter-Protestors bring up the topic, our best strategy is to meet their criticism head-on.  We mustn’t avoid talking about Sparrond and his friends.”

Bullrush muttered something unintelligible.  Marchelle knew that he did not agree with her, but what else could they do?  The reporter, Martie Devon, was now talking to a plump man in a blue-checkered coat.  Marchelle did not recognize him but he had brought a number of people along with him, many of whom were clutching their own signs.  Marchelle shivered as she caught sight of one of the slogans on a sign:  “Human Homes Come First! Fairies’ Homes Come Second.”

Another of the signs read, “Say No to Elf-Fantasies! Human Homes are Sacred!” and “Keep The Butternut Estates Safe From Wild-Lifers!”

These signs seemed to be direct rebuttals of their own slogans.  Marchelle searched the opposing group for someone that she might know.  Her gaze finally came to rest upon Charlie Evanston, the bull-dozer driver who had spoken with her at their last protest.  He had been the one to encourage her to take their concerns to City Hall.   

“Look!” she cried to Bullrush and Norris, “There’s Charlie.  I’m going over to talk to him.”

“Marchelle!” Bullrush called after her, “Be careful! These people may have money behind them, and they’ll be dangerous! They’re probably paid to make trouble...”

“Don’t worry!” Marchelle called back, “They’re only Human, after all.  I’m just going over to talk.”

Marchelle strode past Martie Devon and the man in the blue-checkered coat, as a few of the Counter-Protestors began to heckle her.

“Hey, there’s Fairy-Girl!” one man shouted derisively.

“Whoooo! Let’s swat her flat!” hooted another.

Marchelle ignored them and went straight to Charlie Evanston, stopping short in front of him so that he could not escape her.

“Marchelle,” Charlie whispered, “Some of these guys are looking for trouble.  You better go back to your camp—pronto!”

“We’re all one camp, Charlie,” Marchelle told him evenly, “Don’t you remember that you told me you wanted more wild places so that you could go hunting with your son when he gets bigger? Well, if we keep going the way we are with all this ‘progress’, there won’t be any more wild places to take your son when he gets bigger.  We’ll all be living on nothing but concrete slabs and manicured lawns!”

“I know, I know,” Charlie muttered, embarrassed, “But I also got to earn a living, Honey, like I said.  My son won’t get bigger if he doesn’t eat!”

“Marchelle, Dear,” a red-haired, pregnant woman addressed her, accompanied by an equally red-haired little boy, “Charlie’s told me all about your protests on the Commons.  I’m his wife, Molly Evanston.  I know that this isn’t about the wild-life, really...Charlie can’t go hunting on Jaybury Common because it’s a park.  How long have you believed in Fairies?”

“Elves, as well as Faeries,” Marchelle answered her, “I was first contacted by an Elf named Sparrond when I was a child.  Jaybury Common, known to the Elven people as J’hai-A-tri, is his home.  The Elves and Faeries consider it to be Sacred Ground—all the land surrounding Butternut Drumlin is Elven-Faerie Territory.”

“I see,” Molly said gently, “Yes, I used to believe in Elves when I was young.  My Elves lived at the North Pole, don’t you know!”

The people around Molly laughed loudly.  Marchelle knew that the older woman was being slightly condescending towards her, but she sensed that her heart was well-intentioned.

“Shush!” Molly scolded her fellow protestors, “I think it’s charming, this belief in the wee folk.”

“I believe in Faeries and Elves!” the little red-haired boy called out valiantly, “I’d like to see some today.”

“Well, who knows, Chester?” Molly said to her son, “Maybe we will.”

“We can forgive little Chester Evanston, but Marchelle’s too old to believe in fairies and elves,” the man in the blue-checkered coat opined, “It’s absolutely ridiculous!”

Bullrush, Norris, and the rest of their group were drawing near to the opposing camp, but Marchelle gestured to them to keep at a distance.

The two men that had heckled her were waving sticks and yelling at the Pro-Drumlin group.

“What’s the matter, you myth-loving cowards?” called a man wearing a red baseball cap, “Are you afraid of a little truth?”

“Corey Nash!” Molly chided the young man, “That’s enough out of you.  We need to be good role models to Marchelle and her friends.  We need to demonstrate that we can disagree with each other and still maintain our good manners!”

Sherryl Clairen had quietly joined Marchelle as the argument was taking place.  She found that she was never so glad to have her mother’s strengthening presence with her, for she was so nervous that her stomach felt as though it were tied in knots.

“I think that we can all agree with that, Molly,” Sherryl concurred, “but this belief of Marchelle’s goes deeper than just Santa Claus and his merry little Elves.  She inherited an understanding of The Other-World from her father Patrick.  They both see these beings as Nature Spirits who communicate with Humans—somewhat like the angels.  I seem to remember you telling me a story about a Guardian Angel once, did you not, Molly?”

“Why, sure,” Molly responded good-naturedly, “I call upon mine all the time, and she helps keep me and my kids safe.”

“Once, Angela the Angel kept us safe from a burglar!” Chester added, “She chased him away from our house...I saw him running, chased by a big blue light!”

“Hey, Chester, that’s cool...and isn’t that kind of similar to a belief in Elves?” Sherryl asked her, evidently trying to find some common ground between them, “I mean, why Angels but not Elves?”

“Well,” replied Molly, “I would say, because Angels are more connected to the Heavens than Elves are.  I remember a few old-style faerie stories from when I was a kid, and those faeries were definitely not angels.  They often led travelers off the beaten path and into the bog, where they got lost—yes, those Faerie creatures were pretty mischievous, if I recall correctly.  I’m not sure if the Elves are any better, either.”

“Faeries and Elves definitely have egos,” Marchelle interjected, attempting to introduce a bit of levity into the situation, “Why, just a few days ago they were arguing about who should lead the group over to this protest.”

“Really?” Molly responded, surprised, “Well, what do you know! We had that very same argument when we were trying to get a counter-protest together...some folks, like my hubby Charlie here, felt that I should lead it.  Others wanted Jonas Barker to lead.  Things started to get cantankerous! Finally, I bowed out and said, ‘you take it, Jonas’.  I told my supporters to support Jonas, and let’s just get on with it!”

“Very wise,” Marchelle congratulated Molly, “The two Elf leaders came up with a similar compromise.  The argument was between the Faeries and the Elves, about who should lead the charge.  Sparrow and Sparrond, the two leaders, finally decided to put three beings in charge that were of mixed Elf-Faerie heritage.  They are called ‘Eaeries’.”

“Eaeries!” Molly echoed, “Well, my word.  I’ve never before heard of such a thing.  What’s the difference between an Elf and a Faerie, anyways?”

By this time, most of the Counter-Protestors had gathered around to hear the conversation between Marchelle and Molly.  The Pro-Drumlin protestors had begun to join them, as well.  Many of Marchelle’s friends had heard about the Elves before and wanted to know more.

“Well, Elves and Faeries look very similar,” Marchelle told them, “but really, it’s been hard for me to tell because normally I just see this one Elf named Sparrond.  He usually comes to me as a voice, or sometimes as a blue blurr.  His wife Sparrow, who’s also an Elf, and her friend Willowe, who’s an Eaerie, both came to me recently in a much clearer form than Sparrond ever has.  Sparrow had this lavender light around her while the younger Eaerie Willowe was surrounded by a green light.”

“That sounds like ghosts to me,” the former heckler, Corey Nash, commented, “You better be careful, Fairy-Girl.”

The man in the blue-checkered coat walked into the middle of the throng, in order to bring peoples’ attention back to himself.  Marchelle supposed that this was the leader, Jonas Barker, about whom Molly had been speaking.

“All right, people,” he called out, “Let’s hear no more about fairies, elves, angels, and ghosts.  We’re here to insert some rationality into this discussion, remember? Now, when I ran for Mayor two years ago, I laid out some important initiatives for this town to take.  One of them was developing the Drumlin area.  Unfortunately, I didn’t get elected, and Mayor Barnaby Quinne has been giving in to the environmentalists at every turn.  They’d love to keep our town in the economic doldrums, but I have other plans for the City of Jaybury.  I want to see every citizen have a job and to be able to afford a home on the proposed Butternut Estates site.”

Barker’s supporters broke into cheers, while some of the hecklers re-emerged, jeering Marchelle.  She noticed that the young man Corey Nash did not join in this time. 

“Hey, leave her alone,” he said, “She has some mental health problems.”

Marchelle rolled her eyes in exasperation.  She appreciated Corey’s new-found chivalry in standing up for her against the hecklers, but he was hardly qualified to make an assessment of her psychological health.  She was sure that she’d seen him at her high school, and so he could not be that much older than her.

“Corey is correct,” Barker barked at the hecklers, “This young lady needs some adult guidance.  She is hearing voices that don’t exist, and is obviously suffering from delusions.  I’d advise her mother to take her home right now and arrange for her to have some professional help.”

“Don’t you be telling me how to raise my daughter, Jonas Barker!” Sherryl growled, “She may have a big imagination, but she’s nowhere near as crazy as some of the folks in this town! All she wants to do is to save a piece of land for kids and their dogs to play in and adults to pray in.  Economics isn’t everything!”

“That’s fine for you to say, Sherryl,” one woman objected, “But you’ve got a job as a nurse.  You make enough money to house and feed your kid.  I don’t...I have to live at my parents’ house with my two boys, and it’s not very dignified to have to do that in this world.  People judge me, even though I work a full-time minimum-wage job—they think I’m lazy because I don’t earn a big income, but they wanna try serving coffee all day to grouchy customers!”

“And I get where you’re coming from, Claire,” Sherryl replied to the woman, “I had to struggle to get myself through University, studying at the same time as working at low-paying service jobs.  My parents weren’t able to help me, and neither could my husband support me much later on when I had my baby girl.  But bull-dozing up the Common won’t give you a better job.  Any construction jobs created will only be temporary—and eventually we run out of land to walk on, play on—our quality of life becomes less and less as we tear up the sacred places.  Don’t underestimate the importance of these places to our kids.”

Marchelle stared at Sherryl, flabbergasted.  She had never realized how much her Mom understood the idea of sacred spaces.  She felt grateful for her presence here at the protest(s).

As the two groups of protestors began to engage with each other, they broke out into numerous separate arguments about the value of homes and jobs versus the value of the natural world.  Bullrush’s face was becoming red with rage as the hecklers began to shout out nasty remarks.  

“You people are nothing but pawns for the oligarchy to prey upon!” Bullrush shouted, “Jonas Barker is a rich man who doesn’t care about providing affordable homes for anyone! Don’t be a bunch of fools and be taken in by The Big Money!”

The hecklers laughed, and continued on with their foul-mouthed jeers.  Before long, the arguments grew more contentious until finally people were hitting each other over the head with their signs.  Martie Devon and her crew trained their cameras on the mob, eager to capture the drama for the evening news.

“Stop this!” Marchelle cried out, running in to stop Bullrush from hitting Corey Nash with a sign, “This is not the way to engage with each other!”

“Hey, people!” Charlie Evanston cried out, picking up his young son and shielding his pregnant wife in order to keep them away from the melee, “Marchelle is right.  This is not the way to do things! Stop this, or I’m calling the police.”

“I’ve already called the police!” Jonas Barker shouted across the fray, “and I’ve instructed them to arrest Marchelle and her group of nuts!”

“Hey, Jonas,” Charlie retorted, “It’s not just Marchelle’s group of nuts that are causing the problem!”

 Charlie and Molly shepherded their son away from the foolish fight while Sherryl grabbed Marchelle by the arm and began to pull her away from it as well.

“You are not getting arrested by the police, Baby Girl!” she ordered her firmly, “Norris! Get over here and help me get your niece outta here.”

“Mom, stop!” Marchelle cried, “I can’t abandon my own protestors!”

“They abandoned you when they began fighting instead of talking and listening,” Sherryl told her angrily.

Norris dropped his sign and ran over to his sister’s side, attempting to calm Marchelle.

“Listen, Honey, your Mom’s right, okay? We need to get you out of here—you’re too young to get arrested!”

A wailing siren and flashing lights announced the arrival of the police.  Two officers, a man and a woman, jumped out of the car and strode purposefully towards the crowd.  The policewoman held a megaphone in her hand.

“Disperse, please,” she called out, “or my partner and I are going to start making some arrests.”

The main trouble-makers in both camps dropped their signs and ran, knocking old Bullrush over in their haste to leave.  The elderly man fell heavily on his hand, scraping it on the pavement in the process.

“Bullrush!” Marchelle cried, “Mom, I can’t leave, okay? Bullrush looks as though he’s hurt!”

“Norris!” Sherryl commanded crisply, “Tend to Mr. Rush, please.”

Norris ran back to his friend, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapping it around the wound on Bullrush’s wrist. 

“I hope you haven’t blown your nose on that, Norris,” Bullrush complained.

As the officers began to direct the rest of the crowd away from the scene, an ambulance arrived.  The attendants quickly brought out a stretcher and put Bullrush on it before spiriting him and Norris away in their vehicle.

“Hey, Vic!” Sherryl called out to the officer with the megaphone, “I’m taking my daughter out of here, okay?”

Vic nodded, waving her hand.  Marchelle was about to step into her Mom’s car when suddenly the area was flooded with little lights—blue, green, violet, red, pink, lavender, yellow—but to Marchelle’s intense frustration, the few people who were left at the site of the failed protest did not even look up to see them.                                                         

 

                       

 

 

 

10: Chapter Ten: Coaxing a Cat into Ice-Water

The Elves and Faeries flew about like fireflies, putting on what Sparrond considered to be a very impressive Light-Show.  It soon became apparent, however, that the Humans were preoccupied with fighting and arguing. 

Chief Leader Eachpek whistled to the group to stop all activity and gather around him. 

“Well, there you go, Sparrond,” Eachpek commented in a dour fashion as they all settled on a nearby tree branch, “This is what happens when we get involved with Humans—utter chaos.”

“This isn’t Marchelle’s  fault,” Willowe defended her new friend, “It looked to me as though an opposing group of people showed up to stop the protest from going ahead.”

“Yes, there are always opposing groups of people when it comes to Humans,” Eachpek complained, “Getting them to agree on anything is like coaxing a cat into ice-water.” 

“All right, Eachpek!” Sparrond chided the elderly Eaerie, “That’ll do.  Let’s come up with an alternative plan.  Any ideas?”

Silence ensued.  Two of the younger Faeries, a couple named Ablom and Marreke, whispered to each other surreptitiously but did not share their ideas with the rest of the group. 

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Sparrow spoke up.

“We’ll just need to try again,” she said firmly, “Willowe and I will talk to Marchelle at her home.  We’ll try to work with her to get the group together again so that we can shine our lights even brighter the next time—so much so that no one will be able to ignore us.”

“We’re running out of time,” Sparrond fretted, “The Gruff-Jabbers will be coming back.”

“Oh, Sparrond, they’re not here yet! Let’s keep the hope alive.”

“I agree with Sparrond,” Eachpek opined, “It’s over for us.  We may as well start looking for a new home.”

“Stop it, Eachpek!” Myarta, the mother of Willowe, exclaimed, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m not willing to let go of Butternut Drumlin so easily.” 

Arguments broke out amongst the Elves and Faeries, until finally Sparrond had to make a whirring noise with his light-wings.

“All right, that’ll do!” he cried, “There’s no point in arguing—we’re getting just as bad as the Humans. Let’s go with Sparrow’s idea, since no one has given me a better alternative.  Sparrow, you and Willowe go to Marchelle right now and see what you can arrange.  Meanwhile, the rest of you can aid me in flying around City Hall shining our lights.  Maybe we can get the attention of some of the “passers-by” who were not at the protest.”

“We’ll run out of light-energy,” Eachpek countered, “We need to conserve it, Sparrond.”

“Conserve it for what purpose?” Sparrond responded irritably, “Protecting our home is our most important purpose.  We need to give it all we’ve got.”

The Faeries and Elves buzzed with agreement at Sparrond’s statement, while Sparrow and Willowe flew off to find Marchelle.

As the remaining group flew around City Hall listlessly, a few of the Faeries flitted off in their own directions.  Eachpek was a less than enthusiastic leader, and Sparrond could see that it was affecting everyone else.  Finally, in exasperation, Sparrond demoted Eachpek and placed the young male Eaerie, Carriseed, in the top leadership position.  He appointed the next youngest, the Faerie Jannah, to the secondary leadership position in Willowe’s absence.  This appointment caused the errant Faeries to renew their interest in the project, as Sparrond had anticipated.    

“Bah!” Eachpek growled as he landed on a nearby bush, “I don’t care.  I’ll just watch you younger ones, then.  I haven’t got any more light left to shine.”

Sparrond was so annoyed with the elder Eaerie’s lack of cooperation that he ignored him.  Let him sit it out, he thought angrily, we don’t need Eachpek if he’s going to be such a miserable Mud-Growler. 

“I need to ask everyone to repeat the light-strengthening exercises that Willowe and I taught you,” Carriseed announced, to the sound of many groans and grunts.

“Again, my son?” Questard RoverRoot, the father of Carriseed, exclaimed, “Why do we have to keep repeating these over and over?”

“Because you Elves are slow to learn!” the Secondary Leader Jannah replied before Carriseed could answer his elderly father, “Now, let’s get moving, everyone!”

Questard, however, would not let that insult go unanswered.

“Now, just you wait a minute, Young Faerie!” he told Jannah brusquely, “I am several centuries older than you are, and I resent being told that I am less of a Light-Giver just because I’m an Elf!”

The Elves and Faeries began to argue with one another, ignoring both Sparrond’s and Carriseed’s pleas to come together and do the Light Exercises.  Sparrond’s voice was becoming strained from his vain attempts to be heard, and his light-wings were growing weary.  Finally, he gave up and gestured to the young Eaerie Carriseed to come with him and join Eachpek on the nearby bush.

Eachpek appeared pleased to have been proven “correct” in his earlier assertions about the group losing light-energy.    

“Yes, Eachpek,” Sparrond responded to him before the elder could gloat, “There are always opposing groups of people when it comes to Elves and Faeries.  Getting them to agree on anything is like coaxing a cat into ice-water...utter chaos.”

Eachpek chuckled, in spite of his rather sour mood.         

11: Chapter Eleven: A March for "The Sacred"

Marchelle awoke from her nap to the sound of whirring.  As she arose groggily, she saw a couple of lights circling the room.  Her vision adjusted itself in order for her to perceive two now-familiar forms, one with light blue hair and a lavender aura; and the other with red-golden hair and a green aura.

“Sparrow and Willowe!” she exclaimed, “I’m sorry for what happened at the protest.  The whole thing got shut down by arguments and scrapping.”

“We do the same thing at times, Marchelle,” Sparrow comforted her, “You did your best.  Now, we just have to try again.”

“Try again?” Marchelle echoed, “I don’t know that my mother will allow that for quite a while.  She’s afraid that I’ll either be hurt like Bullrush, or arrested...and that it will affect my future compatibility for the job market, or so Mom thinks.”

“Marchelle, we don’t want to compromise your...compatibility for the job-market,” Willowe reassured her, “but we need to get people gathered around the City Hall in a group so that the Elves and Faeries can show them their lights.  Is there an event other than a...pro-test...that could bring your people out? I’m thinking of something that would be less adversarial, such as a celebration of some kind.  I mean, you and your friends have been thinking in terms of protesting against the building process on J’hai-A-tri, but what if you could bring both groups together for some positive goal?”

Marchelle’s eyes widened as Willowe made the suggestion.  A thought suddenly came to her.

“What about a March?” she blurted out, “It could be something like a parade.  We would parade out to City Hall, waving banners and maybe even dressing up in costumes.  We could have kids participate...A March for...what? A March for Love, Life, and The Sacred! Who could be against that?”

“Exactly!” Sparrow interjected excitedly, “A wonderful idea, Marchelle!”

“And...maybe I could convince the Evanstons to let Chester participate! He’s the son of the Bull-Dozer driver who was trying to tear up J’hai-A-tri.  He seemed very interested in the Elves and Faeries—his mother Molly also believes in Guardian angels, so she might be willing to go with Chester in the march.  It’s just that we would need to make sure it was safe for kids to be a part of it...we couldn’t have any more nonsense going on amongst the adults.”

“No, indeed...” Sparrow agreed, but she was interrupted by the entrance of Marchelle’s mother Sherryl.

“Marchelle,” Sherryl began, before halting her words in surprise when she perceived the lavender and green lights of the two beings’ auras.

“Are you...speaking with the Elves again, Marchelle?” she asked softly.

Marchelle looked at her mother in surprise before nodding. 

“Well, you Elves,” Sherryl called out to the two “lights”, “You better not be filling my daughter’s head with more ideas for a second protest, because it’s not going to happen as long as I’m in charge.”

“Marchelle, tell your mother about the idea for a March,” Willowe encouraged her.

Marchelle looked at Sherryl to see if she had heard Willowe’s voice, but she showed no signs of having done so.

“Mom,” Marchelle began quietly, “The Elf and the Eaerie who are here right now have not been encouraging me to protest.  They’ve just helped me to come up with another option:  instead of protesting against the construction, we can have a March for Love, Life, and The Sacred.”

“Oh, no, we can’t,” Sherryl objected, “Mr. Rush is going to stay with us, Marchelle.  He’s broken his wrist, and so Norris has asked me to take him in for a few days in order to give him time to recuperate.  You can help me to care for him, Honey.”

Marchelle was relieved to hear that Bullrush was ready to come home from the hospital, but she doubted very much whether he’d allow anyone to care for him.  Buster Rush was fiercely independent, and so even if he did come to their home, he’d still want to do things his way. 

“I’ll bet Bullrush will be interested in planning this March,” Marchelle told Sherryl, “and I’m going to try to contact Molly Evanston to see if she and Chester might like to be part of it.”

Sherryl gave Marchelle an exasperated look.

“Well, it won’t be difficult to do that,” she informed her daughter, “Molly and Chester are downstairs in the kitchen.  Molly drove Norris and Mr. Rush here from the hospital.”

“Oh!” Marchelle exclaimed, leaping out the door in excitement and leaving her mother alone with the two little beings of light.

“No more monkey business, you Elves!” Sherryl shook her finger at the two lights as she followed her daughter downstairs to greet their guests.         

   

12: Chapter Twelve: Messin' with Faeries and Elves

A week had passed since the disastrous protest.  Marchelle’s Uncle Norris had spear-headed a letter-writing campaign to City Hall in order to emphasize to the Mayor and Councilors the serious ramifications of allowing the destructive “development” of Jaybury Common. 

The building process on J’hai-A-tri had been halted temporarily, as Mayor Barnaby Quinne was still consulting his peers on the Jaybury City Council about the environmental impact of the proposed Butternut Park Estates. 

Marchelle was grateful to her Uncle for all that he was doing to help her.  She was thrilled that he had been able to turn his talent for letter-writing into a tour-de-force for Butternut Drumlin and its surrounding land.  It had given them more time with which to plan the new “March for The Sacred”, which was in the process of becoming a well-attended event.  Molly and young Chester had enthusiastically lent their support to the endeavor, although Molly’s husband Charlie was far less enthusiastic.  He was concerned about losing work, which would compromise his ability to provide for his family.

“We’ll get by another way,” Molly told him in an optimistic fashion as they gathered once more in Sherryl’s kitchen to discuss the details of the holy parade, “We always do.  The Lord provides for us.”

“The Lord helps those who help themselves,” Charlie grumbled to his wife.

Marchelle felt guilty for causing a possible rift between the bulldozer driver and his wife, but Molly told her not to worry.

“From what you’ve told me, Marchelle,” Molly told her, “this will be a March for that which is sacred and holy in this world.  I believe that I can get behind that sooner than I could with the fightin’ Protest.  Charlie and I really don’t want to see Jaybury Common disappear, but we’re caught between the need for steady wages and doing what’s right.  You’ve come up with an ingenious idea, marching for The Drumlin area rather than against the construction.”

“It ends up being the same thing!” Charlie fretted, “And when this is all said and done, I may have to do some illegal hunting on the Common to feed us all...I sure hope the Elves don’t mind.”

“We’ve still got my sewing business,” Molly reassured him, “and I can always get work at my brother’s bakery downtown.”

“I don’t want that Baker-of-a-brother of yours looking down his nose at me,” Charlie growled gloomily, taking another gulp of the coffee that Sherryl had given him.

“Oh, I wouldn’t concern yourself about all that, Dozer-Man,” Bullrush replied in a grim fashion, resting his cast-encased wrist on his lap, “this whole business about a March-for-the-sacred is not going to work because it’ll be far too soft.  The politicians will make sympathetic noises, and then they’ll approve the development in order to make it look like they’re making big economic improvements.  I predict that you’ll be back to work in another couple of weeks, Charlie.”

“Yeah, then I’ll have to deal with Environmentalists chaining themselves to the wheels of my dozer,” Charlie muttered unenthusiastically, “but I’m gonna trade in the wheeled one for a bigger tracked dozer anyways, to deal with...any new “quicksand” that might suddenly appear...as well as discouraging the crazy protestors.”

“There’s gonna be no chainin’ anyone, to wheels or tracks,” Sherryl warned, placing a basket of muffins on the table for the would-be marchers, “Marchelle’s going to make sure of that.  Aren’t you, Honey?”

“Yeah, Mom,” Marchelle responded, “we want to try this March-for-the-Sacred thing first, Bullrush, before we go back to protest tactics.”

“In my experience,” Bullrush opined, “tough, aggressive tactics are the only ones that work.  Otherwise, people don’t take you seriously.”

“Don’t you be giving Marchelle any ideas, Buster Rush!” Sherryl warned the old man, “I am not allowing her to lead anything that uses tough, aggressive tactics...”

The sound of feet stomping in the front door interrupted her, as her brother had just returned from a hike to Butternut Drumlin with the three Evanston children. 

“Well, Sherryl,” Norris interjected as he entered her kitchen with Chester and his younger sister and brother, “Marchelle is your daughter, so asking her not to be tough is probably counter-productive.”

“There’s a difference between tough and stupid,” Sherryl retorted, “and chaining yourself to the underside of a bulldozer, like some protestors have done to Charlie, is just plain idiotic.”

“We won’t do that, Mom,” Marchelle promised.

“I might,” murmured Bullrush, “after all, no one will miss an old guy if he gets ploughed under.”

“Don’t you dare, Bullrush!” Marchelle chided him, “I’m counting on you to keep things calm.”

“Yeah, right,” Charlie chipped in, “just like you kept it calm by hitting Corey Nash on the head with a sign, Bus!”

“Marchelle stopped him!” Chester cried out, “Mr. Rush didn’t hit Corey with the sign, Dad.”

“Yes, well...I’m not sure it’s a good idea to have the little kids participate in this march,” Charlie replied, to his son’s consternation.

“I’m seven years old—I’m big enough to be in it!” Chester exclaimed forcefully, “I want to help Marchelle and the Elves!”

Chester’s two younger siblings, Tara and Tyler, began to make a commotion.

“We wanna go too!” five-year-old Tara cried, “Chester always gets to do everything and Tyler and me don’t!”

“Me too! Me too!” Tyler echoed his older sister.

“Tara, you and Tyler can be in the march as long as it stays peaceful,” Molly pronounced, “We’ll just ask Angela the Angel to watch over us, and everyone else around us.”

“I’m sorry, Molly,” Charlie explained to his wife, shaking his head sadly, “I’ll have to sit this one out.  If Jonas Barker sees me marching for this thing, I’ll lose the contract...he’s already mad at me and the other guys for getting our machines stuck.  When he sent surveyors out to inspect the site, all the muddy-boggy stuff had mysteriously disappeared! We all looked like lazy morons who dreamed up a tale to avoid working.”

“Well, Charlie, that’s what you get for messin’ with Faeries and Elves,” Norris expostulated.

Chester tapped Norris’ shoulder impatiently.

“Uncle Norris, tell them about the message we got from the Elves!” Chester prodded the burly man.

“Uh...yes,” Norris replied, somewhat embarrassed to speak about the Elves in front of Sherryl, “we...did get a little message when we went out to the Drumlin.”

“Well, what was it?” Marchelle asked. 

She was eager to hear news from Sparrond, since she had not spoken to the Chief Elf directly for some time now.

“Well,” her Uncle answered hesitantly, “it’s just that...Sparrond says that a Faerie on his Council, a being named Ablom Jestchuckle, has found a new volunteer for your march.”

As if on cue, a tall red-haired man with very slight points on his ears wandered into the house.

“Marchelle, my darlin’!” Patrick Connolly greeted her, opening his arms wide.

“Dad!” she exclaimed, jumping up to embrace him, “are you here to help us?”

“Sure I am, my dear,” he responded, glancing nervously at Sherryl, “if your mother will permit it.”

Sherryl threw her ex-husband a disparaging look.

“Patrick, you better not lead my baby into one of your quagmires,” she warned.

“Oh, no, my Good Ex-Wife,” Patrick addressed his former mate, “that would be the task of a Faerie, like my marvelous friend Ablom.  I’m more the Elf, as you can see by the points on my ears.”

The Evanston children were jumping up and down in excitement, pointing at Patrick’s “points”.

“Maybe you’re an Eaerie, Patrick,” Chester informed him, “that’s a being who’s half-Faerie and half-Elf.  Marchelle told us about that!”

“Yes, son, but if so I’m surely more Elf than Faerie, of that I do assure you.”

“Did you and Ablom make my Daddy’s dozer doze in the mud?” asked little Tara.

“No, Dearie, that particular personage would have been Marreke Mudmagic, Ablom’s wife, who performed such a dirty deed...she’s the Faerie on Sparrond’s Council who’s in charge of extra-special mischief.”

Marchelle stared at her father in surprise.  Patrick had told her stories about the Faerie couple, Ablom Jestchuckle and his mischievous wife, Marreke Mudmagic, all of her life; but he had never mentioned Sparrond and his Life-Friend Sparrow, nor had he ever told her about Ablom and Marreke being members of their Council! For that matter, Marchelle thought furiously to herself, Sparrond had never mentioned that members of his Council were friends of her father’s, either...any more than he had mentioned that her Uncle Norris had once conversed with Eachpek.  She felt a sudden urge to go to J’hai-A-tri and ask Sparrond directly about these “missing bits” of information.

“Dad, Uncle Norris,” she told them as she pulled on her coat, “I need you guys to come with me to Butternut Drumlin...right now.”

Uncle Norris looked at Patrick uncertainly.

“Uh-oh, Patrick,” he said as the pair followed Marchelle out the door, “I think Sparrond and his gang may be in trouble...that’s what Elves n’ Faeries get when they mess with Humans.”

    

 

 

 

 

                

13: Chapter Thirteen: The Faerie Bog

Marchelle tore through the tree-lined path leading to the top of Butternut Drumlin.  Her wiry father Patrick was right behind her, but Uncle Norris was wisely taking his time to hike the upward slope of the hill.

Marchelle was anxious to talk to Sparrond and to hear why he had not told her about the two Faeries on his Council, Ablom and Marreke, and their involvement with her father.  She already knew the story of Norris and Eachpek, and so that was a moot point; but why had Sparrond not filled her in on a few of these bits of information earlier?

As she arrived at the top, she was panting heavily.

I’m out of shape, she thought, I haven’t been out for nearly enough Drumlin hikes.

She looked around her impatiently, shouting Sparrond’s name.  When she received no response, she realized that she needed to calm herself down by focusing her attention inward.  As she listened to her breathing and felt the beat of her heart, a familiar voice entered her range of hearing.

“Marchelle—you’re here at last!” exclaimed Sparrond.

Marchelle exited her meditative process immediately.

“Sparrond!” she replied angrily, “Why didn’t you tell me that two of your Councilor-Faeries had been conversing with my father Patrick?”

“Patrick is your father?” Sparrond responded, taken aback, “Ablom never mentioned that.”

“Yes, I certainly am, my Dear Elf,” Patrick interjected, “I’ve had interactions with Ablom and Marreke for many years now...I was under the impression that they’d told you that.”

“No,” Sparrond responded, “I don’t normally interfere with the communications of others and they don’t interfere with mine unless there’s good reason to do so, as when Sparrow and Willowe came to help you with your mother, Marchelle.  When our people make contact with Third-Dimensionals, that’s a private matter.  I only knew about Eachpek’s communication with Norris because he asked me to take over when we discovered you, Marchelle, as a replacement contact.  He didn’t want to communicate much with Humans any more, so naturally he did not want me mentioning him to the new contact...and as for Ablom and Marreke, well...they are under no obligation, according to Faerie law, to tell anyone about their contacts.  They did tell us about Patrick, however, when they felt it would be useful to do so.”

Marchelle supposed that it was not fair to blame Sparrond for not telling her about something he knew nothing about; but she was nonetheless troubled that the two Faeries had not mentioned it earlier to the Council.

“And for that matter, my dear,” Patrick interjected, “I have been telling you tales of Ablom and his mischievous Missus since you were a child.  Why did you not mention the Faeries and I to Sparrond?”

“Well...” Marchelle faltered, “I thought you were just making those stories up, Dad! I mean, a Faerie with the last name ‘Jestchuckle’? It sounds funny, and I would not have thought that Faeries would have names which corresponded with words in our language.”

“No more ‘funny’ than your conversations with one Sparrond Sleepwinter, dear daughter,” Patrick retorted.

“Our names are simply the translations from Elven and Faerish languages,” Sparrond explained, “I am called Sparrond Sleepwinter because Elves within our level of existence often hibernate at intervals throughout the Third-Dimensional winters—the cold causes some of us, like me, to become sluggish.  I normally have a very refreshing winter nap; but sometimes, as was the case during this past winter, I wake up grumpy and discombobulated.  I am, however, sufficiently recovered from my snow-covered discombobulations and ready to fly into action whenever you and Patrick give the word.”

As Sparrond was speaking, Marchelle noticed that his voice had grown stronger than it was earlier.  For that matter, the male Elf had also become more clearly defined within her field of vision as he perched on a nearby rock.  He seemed to her at that moment to be less a blur and more a humanoid figure.  His hair was reddish-orange, his ears quite definitely pointed, and his eyes sky-blue.  She was even able to perceive his clothing, in the form of a green, leaf-like tunic with tiny yellow sock-boots on his feet.  She was able to see him with this degree of clarity only when he was stationary.  The second that Sparrond flitted about, he appeared once more to be a ball of blue-and-orange light.

“Sparrond!” Marchelle exclaimed in excitement as the flighty Elf switched positions from the rock to a small bush, “You’ve been learning a thing or two from Willowe! I can see and hear you much more clearly now than I ever could before.”

“Yes,” Sparrond agreed, “I’ve been learning to shine my light more brightly, and so I’m delighted to hear that my continued practice has finally rendered some results.  Willowe’s twin brother Carriseed is the one who has patiently taught me this art, along with my fellow Elves.  The Faeries already possess this light-shining talent to some degree, but even they have learned new, improved techniques from the two young Eaeries.  We’re ready to launch our Mission of Light as soon as your people are ready to march for the sacred.”

Marchelle frowned.  Somehow, she had an odd feeling that something was amiss. 

She was distracted from her worries by a wheezing, panting Uncle Norris, who had finally caught up with his niece and erstwhile brother-in-law Patrick.  Marchelle guided him towards the rock that Sparrond had vacated and sat him down.

“Are you so out-of-shape, Uncle Norris?” she asked him, concerned for his health, “I thought you hiked up Butternut Drumlin just about every day?”

“Yes...hiked as in ‘walked’,” Norris replied when he had finally slowed his breathing, “I just ran up the last part, after having taken a few minutes to chat with your Eaerie-girl, Willowe.  She and her friend Sparrow have just learned that those two Faeries that Pat’s been yappin’ about—Ablom and Marreke—have convinced the rest of the Faeries to skip your march and turn Jaybury Common into a permanent bog!”

Marchelle and Sparrond stared at each other, aghast.         

  

               

14: Chapter Fourteen: Eachpek's Compromise

“What do mean, you’re turning J’hai-A-tri into a bog?!” Sparrond demanded of Ablom and Marreke after he had gathered his Councilors around him for an emergency meeting atop Butternut Drumlin, “I don’t recall you sharing that particular intention at our last meeting!”

Ablom, a green-haired Faerie, regarded his fellow Council member in a resolute manner.

“Actually,” Ablom Jestchuckle responded as the Elves on the Council gasped in horror, “it was your contact’s father Patrick who first suggested turning it into a bog.  I think he was joking, but Marreke took his comments very seriously.  When she and I talked about it, it began to make sense.  The Faeries on this Council are growing weary of your tepid leadership, Sparrond.  They don’t want to listen to an Elven Chief Councilor any further but have moved to make me the Chief Councilor of Faeries, since we don’t have a Chief on this particular Council.”

“But...that is treasonous!” Old Questard, the father of Willowe and Carriseed called out, “You can’t suddenly change the leadership just like that on a Council consisting of both Faeries and Elves...it must be put to a vote.  And, if I may remind you, votes will be cast by Elves as well as Faeries.”

The Elves on the Council buzzed their light-wings noisily in support of Questard’s statement.  They all flew upwards collectively, forming a “Cloud of Protest” to object to the sudden, secret appointment of a new leader without one half of the Council having been consulted.  They were joined by the two Eaeries and their Faerie mother, Myarta.

  “Sparrond can still be Chief of the Elves,” Marreke explained hastily, “that won’t change; but we feel we need a Leader who will represent our interests as well.  Ablom is willing to serve as our Chief Leader, and we have all voted to install him as such.”

Myarta bristled with indignation at what her fellow Faeries had proposed.

“Since when have Faerie interests been separate from those of Elves?” she complained, “This is a nasty nose-wrinkle towards Chief Sparrond and his mate, Guardian Sparrow.  For that matter, nobody asked me if I’d support this new ‘installation’, as you call it...am I no longer considered a Faerie because my mate Questard is an Elf?”

“Of course you’re a Faerie, Myarta,” Marreke replied frostily, “but we knew that you’d support Sparrond and your Life-Friend Questard...and so the rest of us decided that the majority rules.”

Myarta was about to retort, but Sparrond interrupted her before she could speak.

“Let’s not argue about it,” he interjected, “I will gladly share the responsibility of leadership with Ablom as my joint Chief Councilor, but the decision to turn J’hai-A-tri into a bog is not one that the Faeries can make alone.  There are others living here besides all of you.”

The Faeries chattered amongst themselves, clearly agitated by Sparrond’s challenge.   

“Why don’t we put it to a vote?” Ablom suggested, “We can decide upon the issue after the two Councils hear our reasoning for why we want to turn J’hai-A-tri into a bog.”

Sparrond felt annoyed by the Faeries’ questioning of his leadership, but he knew that he needed to put his ego aside if he was to prevent the situation from becoming worse.  Even so, he could not help but wonder what it was that he had done to disappoint them.  He supposed that he had been a bit of a ‘grumble-bum’ after he had awakened from his winter nap this year, but so were half the Elves on the Council! Old Questard had been exceptionally grumpy this year, as had young Charlok.  All three of the grumblers were male, but their bad tempers had been softened by the gentle cheer of the three female Elves, Sparrow, Aislande, and Leife, who often worked towards compromise whenever there were disputes.  The two Eaeries, Willowe and Carriseed, had also lent their youthful optimism to the Council; and so Sparrond could not for the life of him understand why the Faeries were so angry that they would want to transform their own home into a permanent bog.

As Sparrond was contemplating the question, Ablom began to articulate the answer.

“Here’s the thing, Members of the Council(s),” he explained, “we often think of a bog as being muddy and uncomfortable, but we Faeries are familiar with the muck.  A bog is actually teeming with life! Sparrow Lightgreen is Guardian of Birds, and J’hai-A-tri is the place where Birds and Trees Come Together, is it not?  Imagine the variety of plants, birds, and animals that would be drawn here if J’hai-A-tri was a bog! Our Guardian of Trees, Lord Karshta, has assured me that a marshland would cultivate new kinds of trees and vegetation.  Likewise, wading birds that currently do not live here, such as herons and bitterns, would be attracted to the area if J’hai-A-tri changes form.  If it were to transform into a swamp-like bog, animals such as muskrats, beavers, and various kinds of fish might find a home.  Best of all, J’hai-A-tri will have kept its natural structure, as opposed to the alien construction of the Humans’ artificial homes.  Finally, the Spirit of Nature will have won a victory over the willful arrogance of those spiritually dense creatures which do not recognize their own interdependence with the Primary Reality.  Humans create thought-based Secondary Realities for themselves based upon nothing more than symbols and objects, and these have replaced the natural things in their lives.  Do we want to be drawn into their illness, my friends? It is better to turn our home into a bog than to be bogged down by the houses of fools.  Humans represent a destructive force in our world, and the Faeries and Elves are creatures of Creation.  So there you have it! Who amongst you are with us?”

Each one of the Faeries except Myarta raised themselves into the air in order to indicate a positive response to Ablom’s question.

“So you see—it is The Faeries amongst us—myself, Marreke, Jannah, Marroney, and Lord Karshta, that see the wisdom of the Bog Plan.  I’m sorry you do not feel free to join us, Myarta.  I suppose you need to humour your grumpy Elven mate, Old Questard; but what about the Eaeries? You youngsters are partly Faerie.  What do you say, Willowe and Carriseed?”

Willowe and Carriseed looked at each other for a moment before Willowe moved forward in order to speak.

“If we change the natural structure of J’hai-A-tri to suit our needs, we are being just as selfish as the Humans,” Willowe told them, “J’hai-A-tri is sacred, and therefore it is not up to us to decide whether or not it becomes a bog.  We would be doing with magic what the Humans do with their destructive Gruff-Jabbers...and what about the birds which presently reside here? Perhaps a swamp-like habitat would not be in their best interests.  Again, we would be pushing out the old residents to make room for new ones.”

The Faeries buzzed about irritably upon hearing Willowe’s statement.

“Well spoken, Daughter!” Old Questard crowed triumphantly, “I couldn’t have said it better myself.  We Elves know what conservation values are all about.  You liberal-minded Faeries want to change everything, not so other creatures may find new homes, but so you can have a bog into which to lure the hapless Humans.” 

“Well!” Jannah challenged Questard, “after all they’ve done to the wild lands that used to surround us, do you not think that they deserve to be lured into a bog or two?”

Carriseed darted about in the air anxiously before alighting in front of the imposing Jannah in order to face her directly.

“No!” the young Eaerie objected strenuously, “That is not a direction in which we should travel, Jannah! We need to stay with the light as opposed to being seduced by the mischief of the darkness.  Listen to Sparrond and Sparrow—we need to give Marchelle and the others a chance to put the March for the Sacred into action.  Let’s not take any rash action until we have exhausted every alternative.”

Jannah’s fierce frown sent the young male scurrying back to his sister’s side.  Willowe strengthened her light green aura to include her nervous brother, soothing him softly with the light.     

“The two young Eaeries are correct,” Sparrow concurred, likewise sending Carriseed a reassuring charge of her own lavender light, “Let’s give them a chance.  Who is in favour of continuing with our plans for the march?”

Myarta the Faerie rose into the air, as did the four Elven Councilors Aislande, Charlok, Questard, and Leife, in order to display their support for the Humans’ March for the Sacred.  The two Eaeries also flitted upwards, along with Chief Sparrond and Guardian Sparrow.

“The Chief Councilor and Guardian of Birds cannot be included in the vote,” Ablom objected, “and neither can the Junior Councilors, Carriseed and Willowe.”

The Chief Faerie’s statement sent the Elves into another buzz-cloud of protest, and they were joined most vociferously by the lone Faerie dissident.

“You are Chief Councilor of the Faeries, and you were included in the vote,” Myarta cried in indignation, “not to mention the Faerie Guardian, Lord Karshta...and you have the nerve to exclude Sparrond and Sparrow, in addition to both my children? You are being unfair, Ablom Jestchuckle, along with every single one of your traitorous cohorts!”

Ablom, Marreke, and Jannah rattled their wings rebelliously in response to Myarta’s accusation, while two of the less aggressive Faeries, Karshta and Marroney, lowered their wings in embarrassment.  Sparrond noticed a sense of uncertainty creeping into the personal light-spheres of both these Faerie males, but Marreke Mudmagic was quick to dispel it.     

“The Elves’ own law states that their Leader and Guardian must abstain from voting, and our law allows the Leader and Guardian a vote but prohibits Junior Councilors from voting,” Marreke countered, “so that means Ablom and Karshta can vote, but Sparrond, Sparrow, Carriseed and Willowe cannot.  The result is five to five—a stalemate.”

Sparrond hated the idea of ‘playing politics’ as the Humans would say, but he knew that he had to be just as clever as the wily Faeries if he was to give Marchelle and her team of Guardians any chance at all to save J’hai-A-tri. 

“You’re using our law in your own favour,” Sparrond responded in as sly a manner as he could stand to employ, “and so, I suggest that if you use the ‘No-Chief-Councilor-and-Guardian-Vote’ against us, then that’s fine.  Sparrow and I shall abstain; but then, we should be able to use our ‘Junior-Councilors-Can-Vote’ law in our own favour and include the two young Eaeries’ votes.  After all, Willowe’s and Carriseed’s father is an Elf...and if they are included, then that would increase the vote count to seven for us, since Myarta is on our side.”

“Yes, but Myarta, the Eaeries’ mother, is a Faerie!” Marreke replied, undaunted, “The maternal line decides which heritage Eaeries shall follow, and that means that the two youngsters are bound by Faerie, not Elven law.”

The elderly Elf Questard flapped furiously over to Marreke in order to confront her directly, as his son had done with Jannah.   

“My daughter Willowe may be bound by Faerie law,” Questard argued furiously, “although that’s debatable; but my son Carriseed follows the paternal line and is thus bound by Elven law, which means he can vote!”

“Not according to Faerie law he can’t...” Ablom retorted, but he was interrupted by the arrival of the old Eaerie Eachpek, his light-wings lowering him slowly and precisely into the centre of the Council’s fiery ring of embattled light-beings.

“All right, you fools!” the elder cried angrily, “I’ve been listening to this whole ridiculous debate, and I think it’s time, as Elder Councilor Emeritus, that I stepped in.  One of my jobs, according to both Elven and Faerie law, is to settle disputes—and, by The Clouds of Mystery, every creature in J’hai-A-tri can hear yours from here to Gnome Country! I’m going to tell all of you what to do:  we’ll accept the vote as it is, without the contribution of Sparrond, Sparrow and the two Eaeries.  That will make it a stalemate, which simplifies this decision.  Sparrond, you and your people have the next couple of weeks to show Ablom’s group of mischief-makers that the March for the Sacred has been successful.  If it fails—then, and only then, can Ablom and Marreke turn J’hai-A-tri into a boggy marsh as a last-ditch effort to thwart the Humans’ destructive activities.  They need to understand that if they tamper with J’hai-A-tri, then there will be consequences.”

There was a chorus of grumbles from both sides, until finally Sparrond and Ablom stepped into the centre of the circle in order to indicate that they had both conceded to Elder Eachpek’s compromise.          

                                        

 

15: Chapter Fifteen: Lord Karshta's Sanctuary

As soon as the Council meeting was finished, Sparrond and Sparrow peered into each other’s eyes.  They knew without speaking to one another what they were going to do.  They managed to locate Lord Karshta, the Faerie Guardian of Trees, through Sparrow’s intuition and knowledge of the elderly being.  They both realized that they needed to confront him about his support in favor of Ablom and Marreke’s detrimental plan for J’hai-A-tri.

They found him in his favorite tree, a pine with a small hollow in the middle of it.  There was just enough room in the hollow that the three of them could fit in it, but Sparrow cautioned Sparrond to refrain from immediately blundering into Karshta’s personal sanctuary.  Sparrond knew that Lord Karshta required a sacred place of silence where he could be alone during times of strife.  He hated to interrupt the Tree Guardian’s solitude, but they needed to understand his thinking with regard to the Bog Plan.  Ablom and Marreke were relatively young Faeries who did not possess the same maturity levels as Karshta, Myarta, or Marroney; and yet, these less experienced ones seemed to be dominating the debate at present.

Sparrow hovered outside the hollow while Sparrond remained stationary on a nearby branch.  He knew enough to keep himself at a distance in order to allow his Life-Friend to effectively negotiate this delicate intrusion.

Sparrow did not call Karshta’s name, but merely waited outside the hollow for a few minutes, until her fellow Guardian came to her.

“Sparrow,” he finally greeted her, “and Sparrond.  I have been expecting you.  You may both come into my space, now.”

Sparrond let his mate go first before quietly and respectfully entering the hollow, attempting as best he could to offset the intrusive nature of their visit.  He sat beside Sparrow, facing the elderly Faerie.  Lord Karshta’s long, silver-grey hair hung over his wizened, chestnut-brown visage, his brow gnarled with the concerns of his life.  The tattered tunic and trousers that he wore reflected a humble simplicity, clothed as he was in rusty-red and light-tan colors which reminded Sparrond of the dead leaves of autumn or the furrowed bark of a tree.

“Lord Karshta,” Sparrow began, “Guardian of Trees—my holy counterpart.  We need to know, before we proceed any further with our plans to illuminate the Human Guardians’ March, why you have chosen to support Ablom and Marreke’s plan to turn J’hai-A-tri into a bog.  It is not naturally marshland, and so it supports a range of vegetation which is suited to its drier grounds.  You guard the trees of this place, and I watch over the birds; and together, we serve The Place Where Birds and Trees Come Together.  We cannot do this if we are at odds.”

Karshta paused, as he often did when answering a question.  He tended to speak little at Council meetings, but when he did it was usually at a deeper level than simply arguing for or against something.  He was, at present, using the pause to collect his thoughts; and so Sparrow waited patiently.

“My fellow Guardian of the Sacred,” he said at last, “My dear friend Sparrow.  I carry sorrow in my heart because of this rift that has occurred between Elf and Faerie.  To my shame, I have not spoken up as I should have done; but that is of little concern now.  What has taken place has taken place.  Ablom and his mate Marreke have usurped the Council’s purpose and they have succeeded in separating us into two different camps.  I have chosen to support them because I love them as I love all of you.  While I have been contemplating my decision, however, I have understood only too well that they have not yet gained the wisdom that the elder years bring with them. I fear that they are on the threshold of making a foolish decision.”

Sparrow beheld the old Faerie with compassion in her eyes.

“I understand that you care for them,” she told him earnestly, “as do Sparrond and I; but surely that does not mean that you cannot challenge them at a time when they could be making a terrible mistake?”

Karshta regarded his friend sadly.

“If I had supported the Elven stance,” he explained, “the vote would not have ended in a stalemate, which was what we needed to set the ground for Eachpek’s compromise.  I knew Ablom and Marreke would be arrogant enough to pit the Faerie laws against the Elven ones.  In fact, I suggested to them that we do so.  If the Elves had won the vote, I knew that the Faeries would have left the council to form their own.  This would have caused problems for all of us, because the Elves and Faeries need to work together in order to properly guard J’hai-A-tri and the Holy Drumlin from outside threats.  The younger Faeries believe that the Humans are not to be trusted and have been rebelling against your work with them for some time now.  They decided that it was necessary to manufacture a crisis in order to split the Council into two separate factions.  When Patrick, the Faeries’ Human contact, jokingly suggested to them that they turn J’hai-A-tri into a bog to stop the Humans from building here, Marreke took it seriously and convinced Ablom that it was a good idea.”

Sparrond leaned forward.  He had always respected Karshta for his great dignity and wisdom, but in this instance he knew the Faerie was wrong in taking such a passive role in the whole sordid affair.  He felt that he needed to come out of his own silent stance and challenge the elder for his part in the debacle that he himself had acknowledged was a foolish choice.

“Lord Karshta,” he stated carefully, so as not to insult the older being, “I understand that you felt that you were working for the greater good in maintaining the stalemate, but in so doing you have aided and abetted the nefarious schemes of the younger Faeries.  You have admitted that it is rash to make such a potentially disastrous decision on behalf of all the beings that live in the vicinity of Butternut Drumlin! I don’t need to remind you that this would affect everyone—whether they are Elves, Faeries, Gnomes, Sprites, animals, plants, or Humans.  This business of turning the commons into a bog goes beyond J’hai-A-tri and would touch the entire area around the Sacred Hill.”

Karshta closed his eyes in a weary manner and took a deep breath before responding to his fellow Councilor.

“Sparrond,” he replied, “I feel in my heart that you are correct.  This is not a decision I take lightly; and it is true that there is more at stake here than just the territories of Elves and Faeries, or even those of Humans.  As you know, there are other beings who share the lands on, in, and around Butternut Drumlin.  There are many Gnomes who inhabit the hillside and who create Bubble-Hollows within the rocks.  They prefer to be left alone and do not tend to associate with anyone but their own people.  We don’t know them well, but we know them enough to predict that they would not be particularly bothered by a bog because they do not make their homes on the lower ground.  The Sprites who live here, however, are an entirely different matter...”

Sparrond peered questioningly at Karshta.  The Sprites were cousin-beings to both the Elves and the Faeries, but they maintained a separate cultural system and generally wanted nothing to do with either Elves or Faeries.  Sparrond had been warned as a child to keep away from the Sprites in this particular territory, but his parents had never told him why.  After he had grown into a young adult with aspirations to serve on the Council, his mother and father had left Butternut Drumlin to begin a new colony in a Sprite-free land.  Sparrond had been told, through their whisperings upon the wind, that they had settled in a forest community and joined a group of Air-Spirits known as Sylphs. 

The Sylphs and Sprites were essentially the same sort of being, according to what Sparrond had been told. The main difference between the two groups was that the Sylphs were said to be somewhat more enlightened than many of the Sprites.  Sparrond had known neither Sprite nor Sylph, and so he had no personal experience upon which to build a sound judgment.  He had found the Faeries and the Humans to be challenging enough to deal with, and so he had always left the Sprites to their own devices.

“Karshta...” Sparrow whispered in an urgent tone, “Are the Sprites involved in any aspect of this decision? If they are, you must tell us.”

Karshta lowered his gaze.

“Yes,” he admitted, “I am afraid that they are.  Marreke is familiar with these people, and because they have never bothered us we never really asked her about them.  Neither she nor Ablom mentioned anything about it to the rest of us, but one night I saw a group of them consulting with her.”

Sparrond’s amber eyes widened in shock at what the Faerie had just told him.

“What...what were they saying, Karshta?” he stammered.

“I do not know,” the Guardian of Trees answered, “when I asked Marreke about it, she told me that I had no right to question her about her associations.  I would not be surprised if they were in favor of the Bog Plan, for many of them are former Water Sprites who have adapted to drier lands.”

Sparrond stared questioningly at his Life-Friend Sparrow, stricken with panic.

“We need to warn the others,” she commanded him calmly, “right now.”

The two Elves flew off together, leaving Lord Karshta alone in his hollow sanctuary.                                             

              

 

 

 

16: Chapter Sixteen: An Orderly Procession

Marchelle stood near a field at the edge of town surveying the increasing numbers of people who continued to arrive in order to join the parade to City Hall.  She was encouraged by the number of young people and children who were arriving with their parents.  Farmer Jacob Jenkins had kindly agreed to let them use one of his fallow fields in which to meet for the march. 

Marchelle and her friends and family members had been working feverishly to organize this march while Sparrond was meeting with his council in order to confront Ablom and Marreke.  Now that they all knew about the Faeries’ plan, their action had taken on an even greater sense of urgency than it had before.  Not only was the Common in danger from Human tampering, but now it would be under threat from the very spirit-people who were supposed to guard it!  She knew only too well how successful Marreke Mudmagic’s last dozer-miring mud-trick had been, but she was unsure of how effective the Faerie’s magic would be for a permanent transformation of the land into a marsh-like habitat.

In one way, she understood Marreke’s desire to turn Jaybury Common into a bog:  it would, at least temporarily, bring all Human plans for the “Butternut Park Estates” to a screeching halt.  On the other hand, there was probably a reason why the majority of spirit-beings had never before tried to alter the natural world in such a drastic manner as in the scheme which Marreke and Ablom had proposed.  Marchelle wondered whether their plan, if implemented, would have unintended consequences for the entire area surrounding Butternut Drumlin.

“A penny for your thoughts, my dear,” her father greeted her as he approached his daughter in a reconciliatory fashion, “I do hope you’ve forgiven me for words that I spoke only in jest?”

She had been angry with her father after she had learned that he had “jokingly” suggested to Ablom and Marreke that they turn Jaybury Common into a bog.  Now that the damage was partially done, however, she realized that there was no point in holding a grudge.

“Yeah, Dad,” she answered him gently, “but I’m expecting you to put a lot of effort into this march of ours, in order to mitigate the possible damage your “joke” is going to cause for Sparrond and his people.”

Patrick swept the long, sheepdog-like bangs out of his eyes so that his daughter could see the green twinkle of laughter in them. 

“And will Sparrond and his gang be joining us at City Hall?” Patrick queried, “It would help if we could have a few bright lights buzzing about.”

“I believe so, yes,” Marchelle informed him, “Willowe visited me recently to let me know that they would be ready to follow the march when I gave the word.  When we are ready to go, she said that I would only need to call her name inside my mind for her to hear it.  She would then alert the others and they would go to join us.  Speaking of contact with the wee folk, Dad, have you been in contact with Marreke and Ablom in the past few days?”

“No, not at all, my Dear,” he told her, “I have a funny feeling I’ve been tossed aside in favour of my ridiculous but well-intentioned bog idea.”

Marchelle’s heart raced.  It would be difficult for the Elves and their allies to leave the Faeries alone in J’hai-A-tri in order to join them in the march.  What if the Faeries unleashed their mischievous work in the Elves’ absence? She was anxious about their situation, but she knew that she would have to concentrate on the Human aspect of their mission.  She had no control over what the Faeries would do.

Uncle Norris clattered onto the dirt tracks of the field with his old red truck, interrupting Marchelle’s train of thought.  He and Sherryl jumped out and began to unload the banners and signs, each of which had been re-created to reflect the positive vision of cooperation with Nature rather than the message sent by divisive protest slogans. 

As Marchelle helped Norris and her mother unload the signs, she wondered if this idea of hers was too “pie-in-the-sky”.  Bullrush had told her gently this morning that he could not “in all conscience” join the march because he felt that it would be misused by the politicians and that Marchelle and her “band of angels” would be misled.  Marchelle had been very upset with Bullrush for “abandoning” them, but now she was beginning to wonder if he was right.

Her mother seemed to instinctively sense her self-doubt.

“Marchelle, Honey,” she said to her after all the paraphernalia had been unloaded, “I know you’re upset about Buster Rush bailing out on you.  No wonder he wanted to clear out of our house so quickly, after all we did to care for him after his accident.  I phoned him up after he returned to his apartment and gave him what-for, so I’d better warn you that he may show up after all.”

Marchelle sighed.  She felt deeply supported by her mother’s love for her at this moment, but sometimes she wished that Sherryl would not be quite so interfering.  She did not want Bullrush to show up for the march simply because he had been shamed into doing so.  If he did arrive, she would need to know that it was because he truly wished to be there.

“I think we’re ready, Marchelle,” Uncle Norris told her, “Charlie is going to be dropping Molly and the kids off soon, and the others will also be arriving shortly.  I think we’re going to be good to go soon!”

Marchelle nodded, looking out at the assembled group.  Many of her fellow students from the local high school were in attendance, as well as kids whom she did not know from neighbouring schools.  Many were dressed in green and were wearing hats covered with leaves made from fabric.  The younger children who were there were dressed in animal costumes such as bears, raccoons, rabbits, and birds.

The children were soon joined by Molly and her three “forest creatures”, Chester, Tara, and Tyler.  Molly had obviously put a lot of care and detail into her home-made costumes.  While most of the kids there were dressed in store-bought costumes, the three Evanston children were dressed as insects:  Chester was a green grass-hopper, Tara was a cricket, and Tyler was a mosquito.

“Well, will you look at the three of you!” Patrick exclaimed heartily, “You’re the perfect picture of bug-dom.  Tyler, my son, why did you choose to be such an annoying bug as a mosquito?”

“Because he is a bug,” Tyler’s older brother answered on his behalf.

“No,” Tyler countered, “I’m ‘Skeeter...I suck ya blood!”

“All right, that’ll do, kids,” Molly chided them, “Remember, we’re here to show our love for the land, not the blood-suckers.”

“Ah, well, the blood-suckers are part and parcel of the land,” Patrick mused cheerily, “so ‘skeeter away, young lad!”

Tyler leaped at Patrick to show him that he appreciated his support.  He began to screech loudly, trying to imitate the buzzing whine of a mosquito but sounding more like a screech owl.  Marchelle decided that it was time to prepare the marchers, before people and their kids became too restless.

“Okay, gang!” she called out, “It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for! Grab your banners and Positive-Message signs and let’s begin to walk in an orderly procession towards the centre of town.”

The crowds cheered, and proceeded to follow Marchelle and her family members down the country road.  Chester, Molly, and the two smaller children walked ahead with Marchelle as they made their way into town.  Once they arrived in the populated area, more people joined them, waving banners and signs that read, “March for the Sacred Butternut!” and “Jaybury Common is the Commoners’ Commons!”

To Marchelle’s surprise, many students from her local high school joined her, people who had not been a part of the group that was planning the march.  She was shocked to see Corey Nash, the young man who had heckled her at the City Hall Protest, walking along with them.  What on Earth is he doing here? She wondered.  He immediately noticed her looking at him and grinned at her, tipping his red baseball cap in an exaggerated, faux-gentlemanly manner .  She turned away from his annoying grin and decided to focus on more important concerns.

As they drew nearer to City Hall, crowds of people emerged to cheer them on from both sides of the street.  The two police officers who had been at the protest, Vic and Bentley, were directing the traffic around the marchers and over to an organized detour.  Marchelle was glad that she had consulted the police with regard to the march so that they could help her organize some of these more practical elements.  There would be much less danger of arguments breaking out if the marchers were not disrupting the routines of people who were trying to drive somewhere within the city.

So far, so good, she thought to herself with satisfaction.  The march was unfolding perfectly, with all participants behaving impeccably.  The observers were responding in a friendly, positive fashion with no heckling or cat-calls.  Marchelle was thrilled to see a familiar face in the crowd:  Buster Rush was standing on the sidewalk waving his worn old hat and cheering them on.  She was tremendously glad that he had found a way to lend his support to them without sacrificing his own values.

As they rounded the bend in the road that led up to City Hall, they were greeted by the amazing sight of Mayor Barnaby Quinne and his staff standing on the steps of the hallowed municipal building and waving a welcome to the marchers.  Marchelle’s heart leapt in excitement and pride.  Finally, all their hard work was about to pay off!

She realized that this was the perfect time to call in the Elves of Butternut Drumlin. 

“Okay, Willowe,” she spoke to the Eaerie through her mind-voice, “Now is the time.”

As promised, the blue, green, violet, red, pink, lavender, orange, and yellow lights began to flicker around them, surrounding the immediate area in a gentle rainbow of illumination.  The people in the crowd gasped audibly, while the Mayor’s jaw dropped in astonishment. 

“It’s the Elves!” little Chester Evanston called out, “and I think Angela the Blue Angel is with them!”

One of the lights, a familiar light-green orb, buzzed over to speak in Marchelle’s ear. 

“Marchelle!” Willowe whispered a warning to her Human friend, “Sparrond and Sparrow are missing.  They have recently found out that there may be a group of Sprites and Faeries that intend to...”

Before the words were out of her mouth, Marchelle saw a sudden fire-storm of startling yellow and pine-green flashes streaking through the air and darting in and out between the Elven lights.  The confused Elves began to dim their lights somewhat as they entered a protective stance against the bombarding “flashes”. 

Corey Nash appeared invigorated by the arrival of these firecracker-like bursts of light, and he began to pump his fist, crooning “Whooooooo!” with great alacrity.

Before long, the yellow-and-green “firecrackers” began to dive-bomb the Humans like blackbirds protecting a nest.  Marchelle watched in consternation as they swooped menacingly at marchers and people in the crowd alike.  The Mayor’s formerly cheerful expression changed to one of horror as bystanders screamed, running away as fast as they could from the strange entities.

“What the...” Sherryl exclaimed as a green streak pulsated in front of her, “Patrick! Did you set up some kind of wacky strobe-light system? You need to turn it off quick—you’re ruining your daughter’s march!”

“This has nothing to do with me, my dear!” Patrick assured her, ducking to avoid a furious splash of yellow, “This looks like the work of the Merry Mischief-Makers...”   

Molly Evanston swung her sign at the offending beings as they swooped a little too near to her children’s heads. 

“Scat, you nasties!” she called out furiously, “Come near my babies and I’ll fry you like pancakes!”

“It’s the ‘Skeeters!” Tyler shouted, waving his home-made “blood-sucker’s” stinger at them.

“Angela the Angel, we need you!” Chester cried plaintively, lifting his “grass-hopper” head slightly so that he could peer heavenwards.  

As if in answer, a group of sky-blue lights began to shine brightly, shielding Chester and the other children from the onslaught.

Meanwhile, the march was descending into disarray as Marchelle and her organizers followed Molly’s lead and whacked the marauders with their signs, sending them flying back into the air again.  It seemed futile, however, because as soon as they were “whacked” the light-flashes shot back at them with renewed vigor.

Bullrush suddenly decided to join the strange fray, grabbing a sign which read, “Can you Feel the Love Today?” and using it to flail ineffectually at the flashy offenders. He inadvertently smacked Corey Nash in the process, making matters even worse. 

The young man shook his fist at the old one, swearing at him angrily.  One of the police officers, Bentley, took Bullrush’s “weapon” away from him, but not before Corey borrowed another sign which read “In Sacred Harmony with All Our Neighbours” and returned the unintended blow angrily.  Thankfully, he was stopped in mid-blow by the second police officer, Vic, who threw Corey’s sign to the curb of the sidewalk and sternly counseled him to stand down.

“One more move like that and you’re under arrest, Nash!” she scolded him.       

“Willowe!” Marchelle called out in desperation as a panic-stricken Mayor Barnaby Quinne rushed past her to consult with the two Jaybury City police officers, “What in blue blazes is going on here?”

The light-green orb came to rest upon her shoulder. 

“They’re Sprites,” she explained, “and they’re working along with the rebel Faeries, Ablom and Marreke.  They’re here to throw your orderly procession into complete chaos.”

“It looks as though they’ve succeeded,” Marchelle noted miserably as the marchers ran terrified in all directions.          

                                                                

 

  

 

 

      

       

17: Chapter Seventeen: Joke-Bog

Patrick’s lime-green car roared down the road towards Jaybury Common.  Marchelle had put Sherryl and Norris in charge of making sure their marchers arrived home safely, and she had clambered into her father’s worn vehicle before Sherryl had time to raise an objection.  She needed Patrick to help her solve this terrible crisis that he had at least in part created by his “joke” about turning the Common into a bog.

Patrick stopped the car by the east side of the wooded trail.  Marchelle jumped out and ran down the trail, followed hastily by her father.

“Marchelle, my dear!” he called, struggling to keep up with her, “Stop for a moment! Let’s take the time to concoct a plan of some sort.”

“We don’t have time for a plan, Dad!” Marchelle replied irritably, pausing to let him catch up with her.

“Now, Marchelle,” he chided her after he had caught his breath, “You know that your mother would have formulated a reasonable plan by now...and you need to be more like her and less like your impulsive father.”

Marchelle closed her eyes, listening to her breath for a minute before replying.  She knew that Patrick was right:  she needed to slow down and think rather than running willy-nilly through the woods.

“Willowe said that Sparrond and Sparrow were missing,” she told him, “and that the Sprites were trying to mess up our march.  Our first plan of action should be to locate and rescue Sparrond and Sparrow, since our march has already been messed up.” 

“And how will we do that, my dear?” Patrick asked her, “You know very well that the Elves and Faeries exist in the Other World.  Running around like a wet hen in this world won’t bring you closer to Sparrond and his missus.”

Marchelle nodded, slowly going within, and Patrick did likewise.  She felt the beat of her heart, and as she did so, her racing thoughts diminished.

Suddenly, the duo was jolted out of the meditative stance by a shrill, harsh voice.

“Patrick!” the voice said, as a pine-green flash materialized like a bolt of lightning, “You and your daughter must give up.  Your silly march has failed, and according to Eachpek’s Compromise, J’hai-A-tri must now be transformed into a bog.”

“What compromise?” Marchelle cried, “Who are you?”

“I am Spriggan, Chief of Sprites,” he introduced himself, “and this land has now been claimed by the Sprite-Faerie Collaborative Alliance.  It is to be turned into a bog-like state until such time as Humans admit defeat—which will probably be never.”

“What about the Elves?” Marchelle shouted, “What have you done with Sparrond and his mate, Sparrow?”

“All Elves who have participated in or collaborated with the Human March are considered allies of the Humans,” Spriggan explained, “and they have been taken into our custody until such time as they renounce their ties to the Human Monsters.  We take this action with much regret, but we do what we must to protect J’hai-A-tri.  Sparrond and his clueless followers would have handed our land over to the Gruff-Jabbers, and they would have compromised the Sanctity of the Hill that you people call Butternut Drumlin.”

Marchelle stared at the green entity in shock.  Her perception of him was becoming clearer.  He had slowly materialized from a green “flash” of light to a creature with long, moss-like hair and ears which were so pointed that they reminded her of spears.

“Sparrond and the others want to save the lands surrounding Butternut Drumlin!” Marchelle countered, “He’s on your side, Chief Spriggan.  He knows that there are Humans who want to save the land as much as all of you do—that’s why he’s been working with Human Guardians for so long, just as Eachpek has done.”

“Eachpek has grown weary of Humans,” Spriggan scoffed, “He knows that they say one thing and do another.  It is their way; we do not blame them, we simply fight them with the sort of language that they will understand...that of action.”

Marchelle bristled with indignation.  They had come so close to reaching Mayor Barnaby Quinne and the people at City Hall—she saw it in Quinne’s welcoming wave, when they were approaching the municipal building.  Then, of course, the Sprites and their allies just had to arrive and ruin everything.  She understood perfectly why the other-worldly beings were taking these actions, but she believed whole-heartedly that their plan would only make things worse.

“Don’t you understand, Chief Spriggan,” she pleaded, “The bog won’t stop the Humans from building.  It may slow them down a bit, but if you turn it into a bog and people can’t use it as a parkland, everyone will think, well, why not build on it since it’s useless now anyways?”

Spriggan moved his ears back and forth in irritation at Marchelle’s remarks.

“Yes, I imagine Humans would be selfish enough to think that because they can’t exploit it that it is useless.  Your people, however, will be in for a rather unpleasant surprise.  When the Faeries use their magic to turn J’hai-A-tri into a bog, it will then enter into our dimension, not yours.  Those who are foolish enough to attempt entry may find themselves lost in...well, another world.”

Patrick stared at Spriggan in reluctant admiration.

“Why, you sly devil, Spriggan!” he cried, “You’re going to claim Jaybury Common for the Other-World! Quite the clever scheme, I must admit...who would have thought that my poor, feeble-Human’s joke would have spawned the creation of a magical bog?”

“Yes, indeed, Patrick,” Spriggan replied triumphantly, “Do you not wish you’d stayed with us rather than choosing to be born into the Human realm?”

Marchelle stared at her father in surprise.  She knew that he had often claimed to be an “elf”, but in spite of the fact that both she and him had been born with slight points on their ears, she had somehow never taken him literally.  Was it possible that she and her father had been Elves in another existence?  

“Well now,” Patrick replied, “Since you’re taking all Elves as prisoners, Spriggy my man, I would say you’ve rather left Marchelle and I out of the ‘us’ equation, have you not?”

“The Elves will all be released once the bog transformation is complete,” Spriggan informed him, “even if they don’t renounce their ties with you, since it will by then be a moot point.  At present, we’re keeping them under our guardianship for their own safety.  All those of our world who are not operating within our dimension when The Transformation occurs will be trapped within your lower dimension and unable to return to us.  Likewise, if you are still here when the bog is being created, you may find yourselves unable to return to your own world.  I would highly recommend that you and your daughter leave the area at once.”

“What about Sparrond and his people?” Marchelle cried, “We’re not leaving until we know they’re safe.”

Spriggan cocked his head slightly and brought his ears back in a way that suggested that the topic was not open for debate.

“I give you my assurances,” he told them firmly, “the Elves and their allies are safe, and they will be released.  They are our guests, not our prisoners.  Now, if I were you, I would be more concerned about my own safety than that of your Elven companions.  The transformation will be occurring soon, and if you do not want to be trapped within the Other-World, you had better get out.”

After having issued his dire warning, Spriggan disappeared from their field of vision, as quickly as he had arrived. 

“Well, now,” Patrick mused, “it seems we have been given a choice, sweet daughter of mine.  Do we wisely do as we are told and leave the premises immediately; or, do we foolishly press on where angels fear to tread and attempt some sort of Elf-rescue in order to stop Spriggan’s nefarious joke-bog from replacing the Common?”

Marchelle regarded her father with mischief dancing in her ever-green eyes.

“Dad,” she said, “You know the answer to that as well as I do.”         

 

   

 

              

 

   

18: Chapter Eighteen: Captured by the Sprites

Sparrond flew at the grey rock wall of the Bubble-Hollow, his light-wings buzzing irritably against the prison in which they were ensconced.  If he could only catch the attention of someone, he might be able to communicate with them through a particular Elven wing-beating code and discover a way to escape.   

Sparrow had long since stopped fluttering against walls and had sat down to conserve her energy.  She had been contemplating a way that they could break free which would not include breaking their delicate spirit-wings; and during that time of contemplation she had received a mental communiqué from Willowe updating her on the situation at the march.

“Sparrond!” she chided him, “You need to stop pushing yourself against the rock.  It has been created by the Sprites, Faeries, and probably the Gnomes, in such a way that we cannot be heard through our wing-strength alone.”

“I’m trying to make some sort of connection with the others,” Sparrond explained, folding his light-wings in exhaustion, “I’m fairly certain that they’ve been captured—probably at the Humans’ March.  If we could just send a message...”

Sparrow put her arm around him gently, guiding him over to where she had been sitting, and attempted to soothe him.

“Calm, my courageous Life-Friend.  I’ve just been in contact with Willowe through contemplative Mind-Share,” she stated, “and it seems the Sprites did round everyone up at the March.  Apparently there were hundreds of them, and they surrounded our friends.  They were coerced into doing the bidding of the Sprites, who flew them to the top of Butternut Drumlin.  They were captured in the same arrogant manner that we were when Spriggan and his crowd intercepted us on our way to warn the others.  Like us, they were put in separate Bubble-Hollows made from a “Gnome-Stone” substance which prevents us all from communicating easily.  She and I, however, have a much stronger link than that of most beings, and so we have been able to send each other intermittent thought messages.   She says that each Hollow is guarded by either a Sprite or a Gnome.”

“Gnomes?!” Sparrond exclaimed miserably, “Why are they involved? What about the Faeries—are Ablom and Marreke a part and parcel of Spriggan’s gang? And what about young Jannah? I’m not worried about the older Faeries, but she is still an impressionable child.”

Sparrow regarded her mate sadly.

“Sparrond, I don’t know the answer to all these questions,” she replied, “I only know what Willowe has told me through Mind-Share; and even that is limited because of these blasted rock walls.  I have, nonetheless, sensed Lord Karshta’s presence in one of the Bubble-Hollows, along with his friend Marroney.  I believe the two older Faeries have stopped supporting Ablom and Marreke because they no longer trust them now that they have betrayed us to the Sprites.  As for the Gnomes, Chief Spriggan may have blackmailed them into providing cells for us.  Normally, the Gnomes want nothing to do with outsiders, but the Sprites could easily have threatened them with creating more bog-like territory on top of the Drumlin.”

Sparrond bristled with indignation at the thought of the Sprites tampering with the Sacred Drumlin. 

“If I could only get the attention of the Chief of Gnomes, Gnarlus,” Sparrond told her, “I know that he would help us with this intolerable situation.  The Gnomes want to help the Sprites like they want to be eaten by a fire-dragon!”          

Sparrow regarded her Life-Friend fondly. 

“Sparrond,” she murmured softly, “We will prevail.  The Sprites cannot succeed with this charade for long.”

Sparrond was about to respond to his mate’s optimistic assessment of the situation, when suddenly the Gnome about whom he had been talking appeared from out of nowhere.  He was short, stocky, and had a ginger-red beard.  A grey-blue tunic covered his body, and on his head he wore a hat that looked like the top of an acorn.  His brows seemed to be etched into a permanent frown.

“All right, all right, Sparrond!” Chief Gnarlus growled grumpily, “I’ve listened to your buzzing and your insistent thoughts about me for long enough.  Except for a few sentries, the Sprites have mostly left now, to secure the area surrounding the Drumlin.  So—I can speak with you for a few moments.”

“Why are you helping the ‘bogsters’, Gnarlus?” Sparrond demanded angrily, “Surely you don’t want to help those fools to turn our home into a bog?”

“Of course not,” Gnarlus replied, “but the Sprites, along with a few mischievous Faeries, have been threatening to use their magic to chase us out of our own homes if we don’t comply with their plans.  So we reluctantly agreed to let them use some of our empty Bubble-Hollows to “temporarily” house you fine people.  I apologize for this—we never wanted to abet these ogres.”

“It’s all right, Gnarlus, we don’t blame you,” Sparrow reassured him, “but we need you to help us.  It’s important that we be freed so that we can stop them from making a big mistake.  They don’t know what they’re doing!”

Gnarlus regarded them sadly.  He shook his head back and forth, obviously afraid of offending the Sprites.

“Gnarlus, you must!” Sparrond exclaimed, “If you keep us here against our will, you are being as bad as they are.”

Gnarlus roared in consternation at Sparrond’s statement.

  “What do you want me to do, Sparrond?” he asked angrily, “betray my people, young and old, by invoking the ire of Spriggan and his followers? If we do as you say, we will all be homeless.  R-r-r-arrrrrrgh! By the Beards of My Elders, this is why we keep away from all of you.  We don’t want to be caught in the middle of these kinds of disputes! We just want to be left alone.”

“I know, but we need to put aside our fears and work together, Gnarlus!” Sparrond roared back, “Otherwise, the Sprites win, and we’ll all be searching for a new home.”

Gnarlus growled under his breath, and Sparrond could sense the conflict within him.  He evidently wanted to help them, but was held back by fear of the consequences for himself and his people.  Finally, Gnarlus gestured towards the back of the Bubble-Hollow.

“I was the one who built these hollows,” he murmured, “and I alone know their secrets.  Go to the back of this one, and maybe I will open the tunnel for you.  If your heart-soul is strong, you can move through the spirit-rock with ease.  You will be able to travel without Spriggan sensing you, because you will be protected by Gnome-Stone.  If your heart-soul is weak, you will not be capable of entering the tunnel system.”

Sparrond’s rusty-red eyebrows shot upwards in surprise.  He had not expected the stubborn Gnome to give them his trust so soon.

“Thank you, Gnarlus,” Sparrow addressed him on behalf of both of them, “We can use our intuitive senses to find the hollows that contain the others.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Gnarlus snorted, “and don’t free the others too quickly or Spriggan will be on the war-path against you in no time.  You must be careful, foolish Elves! If you go outside of the rock tunnels, we cannot protect you from Spriggan’s wrath.  He does not tolerate challenge to his authority very well.”

Gnarlus left them with that warning, floating back through the wall of rock as though it were air.

“Well,” Sparrond said, “That’s it, then...that’s the break we were looking for.”

He groped his way through the darkness towards the “back” of the Bubble-Hollow, only to find that there seemed to be no “back”.  It felt to him as though it was an endless path.  He peered at Sparrow, who had come behind him to illuminate the “path” of the Hollow with her lavender light. 

“Sparrond,” she told him, “I’ve been thinking about what Gnarlus said, and he’s right.  If we both go, Spriggan will sense that something is up.  If I remain behind, I can block him from sensing you, as long as you remain within the safety of the Gnome-Stone tunnels.”

“Yes,” Sparrond agreed, reluctant to leave his Life-Friend behind, “but at some point I will have to leave the tunnels, Sparrow.  And when I do, I would rather that you were with me.  I don’t want to leave you vulnerable to Spriggan.”

“You won’t,” Sparrow reassured him, “as long as I am a prisoner, and as long as he does not suspect that you are gone, Spriggan will leave us alone.  I will protect you from being sensed by any of them.  Stay within the protection of the Gnomic tunnels for as long as you possibly can, Sparrond.  The Sprites will be too busy with their preparations for the Great Bog Transformation to notice what you are doing.”

Sparrond nodded, brushing his face against hers in quiet farewell.  He knew that Sparrow was right.  In order to protect her, the Gnomes, and his own people, he needed to stay within the halls of rock for the time being.  With a heavy heart, he began his journey along the darkness of the Gnome-Stone tunnels. 

 

                  

 

         

 

 

19: Chapter Nineteen: Stranded on Butternut Drumlin

Marchelle and Patrick had left the woodland trail and ran as fast as they could across the increasingly muddy ground.  Jaybury Common was already showing signs of becoming bog-like, to their dismay. 

Patrick believed that if they could just get as far as Butternut Drumlin, they would be safe from the “bog effects”.  His daughter agreed, for the Drumlin was the best place to go in order to find Sparrond and Sparrow.  Whenever Marchelle had needed to make contact with Sparrond in the past, she would go to the top of the big hill.

As they slogged their way across the Common, however, they noticed that it was becoming waterlogged.  They were obliged to slow their pace, as their feet kept sticking in the watery mud.  Marchelle stopped for a moment to inspect the ground.  As she crouched down, she was shocked to find that her soaking wet feet were now actually sinking.  Patrick climbed upon the firmest rock he could find and yanked her out, pulling her up onto the rock beside him.

“We’d best not stop, my girl,” he advised, “or we’ll drop into the quicksand.  Come on, we’ve almost arrived at the Drumlin.”

“Quicksand?” Marchelle echoed her father in consternation, “It can’t be quicksand! They’re only turning it into a regular bog—or swamp, aren’t they? Those may be messy, but you won’t sink in them.”

“Hmmm,” Patrick replied, “but you are forgetting, Marchelle my dear, that this is no ordinary bog.  It is a Faerie-Sprite magical bog, which means that it will not necessarily adhere to the rules of one of our third-dimensional bogs.”

Marchelle realized that her father was right.  They made their way slowly and painstakingly through the wetlands, using rocks, fallen logs and low lying bushes as stepping-stones until finally they reached the dry land of the Drumlin.  Once they were safely on firm ground, they hiked up the hill as quickly as their legs would carry them.  They arrived there with perspiration pouring down their faces.  Marchelle had not endured such a difficult hike since she climbed up a steep mountain path during a trip to visit her cousins out west.

They paused to catch their breath.  As Marchelle surveyed the Common from the top of the Drumlin, she was dismayed to see that her vision of reality kept switching from bog-land to the regular Common and back again.  It was like watching sheet lightning illuminate the sky during the prelude to a thunderstorm.

“What’s happening, Dad?” she cried, “Why is it doing that?”

“Ah, my dear,” Patrick explained, “It’s just that the two realities are clashing a bit—the vision of the Sprites for the bog and our own vision of an intact Jaybury Common.  Nothing to worry about, I’m sure.”

Marchelle was hardly reassured.  She looked around her and saw that the Drumlin area was the same as it usually was, to her relief. 

“C’mon, Dad,” she urged her father, “Let’s both do a meditation so that we can try to make contact with Sparrond.”

The pair closed their eyes and went within, quieting their minds.  Before long, Marchelle sensed a new entity, one that she had never met.  He did not seem to be an Elf, but he was not a Sprite or a Faerie either.

“I can sense your presence,” she called out, “Who are you, and do you know where to find an Elf named Sparrond?”

There was hesitation on the part of the being before he finally appeared as a rather large blue-and-white blur. 

“I am Gnarlus, Chief of Gnomes,” he introduced himself, “and you both need to tone down your presence here before you get us all into trouble.  Your friends are being kept in Bubble-Hollows in the rocks.  You cannot possibly enter into those as your physical bodies are too dense.  They are unharmed, and are no doubt working on a plan to reverse the damage that the Faeries and Sprites are going to cause towards J’hai-A-tri.  If the Sprites discover that Sparrond’s group is attempting to thwart their aims, they will cause trouble for all of us.  Therefore, I am here to ask you to go back home.  You will only make things worse for your friends if you stay.”

“Ah, Gnarlus, my good man,” Patrick greeted him, “I have certainly heard of you from my wee friends Ablom and Marreke; but you see, we can’t return.  The Faeries and Sprites have begun their dastardly work of turning J’hai-A-tri into a bog.  We nearly didn’t make it here because our feet kept getting mired in the mud.”

“R-r-r-rarrrrgh!” Gnarlus answered irritably, “Where are we supposed to hide you, then? There are Sprite sentries guarding all the Bubble-Hollows!”

As if in response, the Chief Sprite Sentinel flew over as a disembodied flash of green.

“And what do we have here, Gnarlus?” the Chief Sentinel asked.

“Humans!” Gnarlus snorted, as if he was disgusted with his own discovery, “They’re stranded here on the Sacred Hill.  They can’t do much.”

Marchelle had the distinct impression that the Gnome was putting on an act for the Sentinel.  She tried to play her part and appear frightened.

“Keep an eye on them,” the Sentinel ordered Gnarlus, “and I better not find out that you’re helping them, Gnome, or I will turn several of your people out of their homes in order to keep the Humans company.”

“Helping the Humans?!” Gnarlus almost spat, “You must be joking, Sir! I can’t stand Humans.  They’re the ones that got us all into this mess in the first place.”

The Sentinel gave a grunt, and flew back to his post. 

“Go in behind that bunch of bushes and trees there,” Gnarlus ordered them briskly, “and stay there, for now.  Don’t make trouble!”

Marchelle and Patrick watched him float back to his own “Bubble-Hollow” and disappear into the rock.

The father and daughter looked at each other in frustrated helplessness.  It seemed as though they were indeed stranded on Butternut Drumlin, just as Sparrond and his friends were in their prison “Bubble Hollows”.                           

20: Chapter Twenty: A Deal With Chief Spriggan

As Sparrond moved through the spirit-rock pathways, he found that he needed to concentrate as much as possible on emitting his own personal light in order to illuminate the way through this pitch-black darkness.  It was no easy task.  Whenever he found himself growing disoriented and disillusioned, his light dimmed noticeably; and he therefore had to keep his spirits up so that he could see at least a small distance ahead of himself. 

After wandering the tunnels aimlessly for what seemed like a long time, Sparrond finally gave in to his frustration for a moment and sat down.

“This is ridiculous,” he thought to himself, “I’m not getting anywhere doing this.  I can feel the presence of my fellow captives, but it doesn’t matter because I can’t free them without angering the blasted Sprites!”

After a few minutes of self-indulgent moodiness, he finally willed himself to stop complaining and go within.  He remembered that Marchelle always went within and listened to the beat of her heart whenever she wanted to make contact with him.  Even though he was a being of light-spirit who ought to have known better, he found that he often forgot to engage in that simple meditative act.  He took a deep breath, just as Marchelle would do, and listened inwards to the sound of his own pounding spirit-heart.  It beat at a much faster vibratory rate than did the same organ in a Human’s body and so as he turned his attention towards his inner sanctuary, the re-joining of body and spirit was instantaneous.  He immediately became aware of the presence of two Humans nearby.  It was not long before he recognized the beings as Marchelle and the adult male that Sparrond intuitively knew as Marchelle’s father Patrick.

“But...what are they doing here?” Sparrond thought in shock, “The Sprites will be re-calibrating J’Hai-A-tri so that the Faeries can perform their mud-magic tricks upon it!”

Marchelle and her father definitely needed to leave the area while the transformation was taking place.  They should have been at the March...but of course, the Sprites had no doubt crashed the entire event, even the Human aspect of it.  Did those growl-flashers know no bounds? He swallowed his ire for the time being, because he knew that if he gave in to his anger that Spriggan would sense his “escape” easily.

“Sparrond!” Marchelle’s voice entered into his mind as he contemplated her, “Where are you? I feel your presence, but I can’t see your blurry figure.  Are you in one of those ‘Bubble-Hollows’ that Gnarlus the Gnome told us about?”

“I’m in Gnarlus’ tunnel system, within the rocks,” Sparrond told her fiercely, “I can’t come out or I’ll alert the Sprites to my presence, and then we’ll all be in trouble.  I can’t believe Gnarlus made contact with you...that’s unheard of for Gnomes to have anything to do with Humans.”

There was a pause while Marchelle seemed to be in the process of correcting her thinking.

“I’m sorry, Sparrond,” she finally transmitted, “I shouldn’t have mentioned Gnarlus.  I don’t want the Sprites to have any inkling that he was helping us.”

“You shouldn’t have come here, Marchelle,” Sparrond chided her, “You and your father stick out like a sore thumb, as you Humans would say; and I don’t need to remind you that the Sprites and Faeries are in the process of transforming your Jaybury Common as we speak.  The Drumlin is safe for now, but we can’t put anything past Spriggan, the Chief of Sprites.  He is their leader, and he is not the kindest being to be found in our realm.”

“Yes, we had the distinct displeasure of meeting with Sir Spriggan,” Patrick interjected into the conversation, “he informed us of his diabolical plans for our public Common, but Marchelle was determined to press onwards so that we could rescue you and your clan, my dear Mr. Sleepwinter.”

Sparrond was aware that the two Humans wanted to help, but there was little they could do because of the density of their physical bodies.  He was unsure how the “magical bog” would affect them once the Sprites had completely transplanted it into their higher realm.

“Whether or not we should be here is a moot point, Sparrond,” Marchelle remarked, “we can’t go back now because of the bog.  It’s flashing back and forth between our two realms like lightning, and it’s happening all around the Drumlin.  We may be stuck here anyways.”

“That makes our task even harder,” Sparrond replied, “We all have to figure out a way for you to return to your realm safely...perhaps we could reason with the Sprites and get them to clear a path through the “bog” for you to leave.  I can’t imagine that they will be wanting you here for very long.”

“We can’t leave you and the others enslaved here,” Marchelle objected forcefully, “I won’t do it, Sparrond.”

“Marchelle, we may have no other choice,” Patrick warned her, “You heard your friend Sparrond—we’re just in the way, now.  I ought to have stopped you from pressing on, but of course I wanted to engage in foolish heroics as much as you did.  We’re quite the pair, you and I; but if I don’t get you back to our dimension, your mother will never forgive me.”

Sparrond knew that Marchelle was conflicted about leaving him and the others here, but she really had no other option than to return.  Once the transformation occurred, the area might not be able to sustain third dimensional beings.  He had no idea how that would affect Marchelle and Patrick any more than he knew how it would affect the “3D” physical aspect of the landscape that Humans referred to as “Jaybury Common”. 

There were legends of ancient Faeries who had reportedly beguiled Humans further and further into bogs until they wandered unwittingly into the Higher Nature Realm; but until recently Sparrond had believed these to be myths and nothing more.

Interactions with Humans had, as far as he knew, always taken place within their third dimensional realm.  All of the Elves and Faeries that he had known during his own lifetime had always been Guardians of Nature and therefore interested in protecting all aspects of it, including the well-being of Humans.  That was, of course, before Ablom and Marreke had foolishly led them all into “The Sprite Crisis”, along with the hapless Humans. 

He had to admit, though, it was difficult to protect Humans from themselves.  If the adult members of the species had been less adversarial in some of their actions, it would have been easier to work with them.  As it was, the Elves had needed to make contact with mostly young Humans to accomplish their environmental aims.  Those adults who were involved were normally people like Patrick or Norris, who had both originally been contacted as children.  Sparrond knew that, because he had been the one to initiate contact with Marchelle as a child, he alone was responsible for her well-being.  He realized then and there what he had to do. 

“Marchelle,” he told her, “I’m going to fly out of this rock passageway, and I’m going to contact Chief Spriggan.  I need to negotiate a way out of here for you.”

Marchelle protested vociferously, but it did not deter Sparrond.  He exited the Gnome-Stone tunnel as easily as he had gone into it.  As he did so, he sent a mental message to Sparrow informing her of what he was about to do.  As soon as she realized that Marchelle was at risk, Sparrow sent back her blessing. 

“Do as you must, Sparrond,” she said to him in a soft mind-whisper.

No sooner had Sparrond exited the tunnel than the Sprite Sentinel who had spoken with Gnarlus earlier in the day descended upon him.  He felt the creature’s teeth on his neck, but he did nothing to resist him.  The Sentinel quickly bound his hands with a vine-like material that he was wearing around his shoulder.

“I need to speak with Spriggan,” he told the Sentinel, “What is your name?”

“Never mind my name, Elf!” he cried, “You are going to be put into a special holding cell due to your disobedience.  Did you really think we couldn’t detect your presence? You will not be able to use the Gnomes’ tunnel tricks where you are going.  Speaking of the Gnomes, Gnarlus and his family are to be expelled as punishment for helping you—and I know he did, for no one travels the tunnels of Gnomes without their consent.  Now that you have kindly exited your safe-haven, however, I am afraid that you are at our mercy—of which there shall be precious little, I assure you.”

Before Sparrond could respond, he felt a huge rush of air swipe the Sentinel away.  It was Marchelle! She was swinging at the flash of green that was the Sentinel with a pine branch.  The Elf took advantage of his captor’s distraction by gnawing the vine around his hands as he flew off at full tilt down the Drumlin towards J’Hai-A-tri. 

It wasn’t long before he heard the buzzing sound of a swarm of Sprite guards pursuing him.  He knew that he did not need to flee them so much as he needed to gain Spriggan’s attention.

“Spriggan!” he called out, “Chief Spriggan! I have some news for you!”

As he arrived at the edge of the bog, Spriggan was waiting for him.  Sparrond stopped, and he was immediately surrounded by the Sprite minions.

The Sentinel flew directly over to his Chief, evidently somewhat nervous.

“Salaka!” Spriggan upbraided his underling, “What is the meaning of this? I thought you were guarding Sparrond and his band?”

“Yes, Chief Spriggan, we were,” Sentinel Salaka explained hastily, “I mean, we are.  It’s just that Gnarlus allowed this Elf to escape through his Gnome-Stone tunnel system; and so we will expel Gnarlus and his family from the rocks of the Drumlin.”

“No, you idiot!” Spriggan fumed, “We need Gnarlus on our side.  You must humor him, Sal.  If you expel him, you give his stone-tunneling magic to our opponents.  Go back now and belay whatever stupid order you gave to your guards.  We can’t afford to drive the Gnomes into the waiting arms of the Elven Guardian Sparrow or even her Faerie counterpart, Lord Karshta.  We have already lost the support of most of the local Faeries.”

Sentinel Sal ordered half of his people to go back and repair whatever diplomatic damage had been caused by Gnarlus’ expulsion.   He waited for Spriggan to hand Sparrond over to him, but Spriggan had other plans.

“Go!” he commanded the startled Sentinel, “I will hear what Sparrond has to say alone.  Ablom and Marreke and their forces are nearly finished...we will not need to imprison the others for much longer.”

Sal nodded his head mutely, and flew off with his remaining posse of marauders.

“So, Sparrond,” Spriggan said in an almost jovial tone, “What do you think of the new J’Hai-A-tri? We are thinking of re-naming it “Ja-Kra-Mogh”, a Sprite name that means, “Truth Has Come”.  It has a ring to it, do you not think so?”

Sparrond did not reply to Spriggan’s taunting tone, but instead looked out at his former home in despair.  The wooded area was now waterlogged, with small trees almost submerged.  What had once been dry ground appeared now to be a pond.  He realized that most of the trees that had grown here would probably die—they were not accustomed to such wet habitat.  He felt anger rising up within him, but he attempted to submerge it, much as the young trees were struggling to adapt to their sudden dilemma.

“I can feel your rage, Sparrond,” Spriggan told him merrily, “and I empathize with you.  This was not what you wanted, but it was the only way to deal with the Humans.  I have dealt with them in other areas many times in the past, and they will destroy everything if you let them.”

“You did not give us a chance,” Sparrond replied glumly, “We were just about to achieve victory, but you and your gang snatched it away with your thoughtless raid upon the Sacred March.  Now, what will happen to all the trees and wildlife which rely on the woodland habitat? You have been as destructive as the Humans, Spriggan, although I know you don’t see it like that.”

“Yes, I know you think that I am a selfish criminal, Sparrond,” Spriggan responded in a gentler tone than he had used before, “but let me tell you something about this operation, in my own defense.  This “transformation”, as you see it, will not endure within the Human realm.  The swamp-like qualities will remain for a few days, and then it will turn into a barren wasteland.  The Humans will attempt to rush in greedily so that they can develop it, but they will find that they are unable to do so because the ground itself will retaliate.  Their gruff-jabbers will cease to function as soon as they touch the enchanted ground, because we have claimed it for our realm.  None of them will likely be able to enter the land, and that means that the Drumlin will be kept safe.  Try as they might, they will not reach it except through J’Hai-A-tri—which is now Ja-Kra-Mogh.”

Sparrond forced himself to let go of his grief over the loss of J’Hai-A-tri and concentrate on securing Marchelle and Patrick’s release from the bog.

“Spriggan,” he said, pushing his voice into sounding as reconciliatory as possible, “I’m sure that you have done what you feel is necessary for this area, and I thank you for that.  There is, however, one problem which must be addressed, and if you want the cooperation of our people you need to grant us this one favor.  It concerns our Primary Human Contact, Marchelle and her father Patrick...”

“Yes,” Spriggan interrupted impatiently, “I myself warned them to go back while they still had the chance, but I imagine that their Human arrogance invited them to stay...and now that they are virtually trapped here, you want me to open a passage-way to their realm and set them free, am I correct?”

“Yes, Chief Spriggan,” Sparrond agreed, “that is precisely what I am requesting.  You don’t want Humans hanging around here, now that you have claimed J’Hai-A-tri...that is, Ja-Kra-Mogh...as your prize! Let them go free, and I will talk my Elven and Faerie followers into supporting you.  After all, we’ve lost, have we not? There’s not much point in resisting what has already occurred, is there?”

Spriggan regarded the Elf suspiciously.

“I’m afraid that I find it difficult to trust your new-found conversion to our way of thinking, Sparrond.  If I open a passage-way at this point, the whole operation could be in jeopardy.  It could de-stabilize the area, and then the bog would revert to its original form...which would have the effect of re-connecting our realm to the Human one.  We would again be at their mercy.  Is that what you want, Sparrond?”

Sparrond needed to find a way to convince Spriggan to send the Humans back, before it was too late; but what about his greater responsibility to J’Hai-A-tri and his people? If he promised the Chief of Sprites that he would only send the Humans back and not try to re-claim J’Hai-A-tri, he would be fulfilling his responsibility to Marchelle but betraying his own people. 

On the other hand, Sparrond thought, messing around with the creative process this late in the transformation might have unintended consequences.

No one could be sure what would occur if they attempted to thwart Spriggan’s aims.  If they did deliberately throw the process into chaos after sending the Humans back, there was the possibility that they would render the place uninhabitable for the Nature spirits who lived here...there would not even be a bog for future generations to appreciate. 

Sparrond made his decision, then and there.  It would simply be too dangerous to work against Spriggan at this point in time.  They could not afford to be in conflict with a portion of J’Hai-A-tri’s population, whether they agreed with their methods or not. 

“Spriggan,” Sparrond began cautiously, sensing that the Sprite already had some idea of what he was thinking, “I promise you that I will not attempt to compromise the transformation...doing so would be too risky right now.  I only want to send the Humans back.  You have no use for them here!”

Spriggan threw back his long, pine-green hair and laughed in a raucous manner.

“Before I grant you this wish, Sparrond,” Spriggan said to him, “I want you to go back and tell your people that you have decided to fully support me in my leadership of Ja-Kra-Mogh.  Convince the others to follow me, and I will make a temporary path for the Humans to escape into their own realm.  After that, there will be no more communication with them—they will be cut off from us, and us from them.  The two realms are to be kept separate, do you understand?”

Sparrond realized that he did not have many options available to him, and so he did the only thing that he could do:  he demurred to a being with whom he completely disagreed.

“Very well, Spriggan,” he relented, “You win.  I agree to fully support you, if you keep your word and send the Humans back.  I also agree to recommend that my people accept you as their leader, although I will not force them to do so.”

Spriggan grinned victoriously.

“Then it’s a deal, Sparrond?” he replied.

“Yes, Chief Spriggan,” Sparrond concurred, “It’s a deal.”                                                                  

 

 

21: Chapter Twenty-One: The Pathway of Light

Sparrond and Spriggan stood upon the apex of Butternut Drumlin as the red-and-black “lightning flashes” of the two dueling realities grew more ominous by the minute.  The flashes of light were now accompanied by frequent and very loud claps of “thunder”, which threatened to drown out all other sounds.

The incarcerated Elves, Faeries, and Gnomes had finally been freed from their prison “Bubble-Hollows”, and they were joined by a growing number of local Nature Spirits who had come to stand in solidarity with them.  Elves, Faeries, Gnomes, Sylphs, and even a few Sprites joined the crowd as they buzzed their wings in a collective “Cloud of Protest” towards the changes that were occurring within their habitat.  The “Cloud” remained grounded, however, and did not float upwards as the Nature Spirits normally did when making an objection.  The presence of the nefarious Chief Spriggan, together with the blinding flashes and loud noises, kept them huddled together in a low, submissive position.

Marchelle and Patrick joined the group but sat in the background, since they loomed over the little beings like giants.  Sparrond sensed that they were in an anxious mood, however, in spite of their imposing physical presence.  No one was in a particularly optimistic frame of mind, surrounded as they were by Sentinel Salaka’s Sprite Sentries.

The two renegade Faeries, Ablom and Marreke, stood solemn and silent with Sentinel Salaka, apart from the crowd.  They were obviously aware that they were not very popular with people at this moment in time.  The young Faerie, Jannah, was standing at a distance from them without joining the buzz-cloud of protest, which told Sparrond that she was not certain about what to do.  Evidently, she seemed to be having second thoughts about having supported the two mischief-makers.  Sparrond believed that even the two “mischief-making” Faeries were not pleased with the results of their work.

All of this uncertainty, and in some cases downright hostility, in the crowd towards Spriggan’s Sprites likewise caused Sparrond to hesitate.  He hated what he was about to say to them, as he knew it would likely be taken as betrayal.  He wondered if he was indeed a traitor, as his heart sunk like a stone in a bog. 

Spriggan flew up into the air as a powerful green burst of light in order to capture everyone’s attention.  He eyed Sparrond from his elevated position above the crowd, as if sternly warning him that he had better honor his part of the deal.

“Listen, all of you!” Chief Spriggan cried, “Your Elven Leader, Sparrond, has something important that he would like to say to you!”

Sparrond peered helplessly into the eyes of his Life-Friend, Sparrow, who immediately flew to his side.

“It’s all right, Sparrond,” she comforted him, “You know we’ll support you, no matter what.”

“I know that you’ll support me no matter what,” he whispered to his mate, “I’m not so sure about the others, when they hear what I have to say...and I won’t blame them in the least.”

Sparrow knew his mind better than anyone, and so she already understood what he was thinking with regard to sending Marchelle and Patrick back to their own realm.  She floated upwards with him, her hand pressed against his back in order to strengthen him. 

Sparrond took in a breath.  He saw the worried look in Marchelle’s light green eyes, and he knew that she would like what he had to say least of all.

“My friends,” he called out, “I apologize to you for what I am about to tell you.  I know that you will be disappointed in me, but I see no other alternative than to recommend that we accept the current reality as it is and support Chief Spriggan as Leader of it...”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a chorus of panicked voices angrily shouted out their objections.

“Will you give in to Spriggan so easily, Sparrond?” Old Questard’s voice thundered above the others, threatening momentarily to dwarf the thunder-claps, “What has Spriggan done to you that you would be so weak?”

The rest of the crowd buzzed their light-wings in agreement with Questard; but his two children, the Eaeries Willowe and Carriseed, flew forward swiftly to join Sparrond and Sparrow.

“Listen, all of you!” Willowe cried out, “I can tell that Sparrond would rather chew the Humans’ road-tar than tell you this, but he is right! Now that the Sprites have changed the form of J’Hai-A-tri, conflict between us will only tear it further apart.  We must all unite behind Sparrond and...”

Spriggan growled a furious warning and glared at Sparrond.

“No!” the Chief called out, “It is not Sparrond whom you will unite behind, but rather me! I am The Chief of Ja-Kra-Mogh, The-Truth-has-Come.  Accept what must be, you swarm of buzzing fools!”

“Yes!” Sparrond forced himself to shout the words, “Chief Spriggan is right—we must accept him as Leader!”

A looming presence suddenly cast a shadow across the sacred ground that was the Drumlin.  They all looked up to see Marchelle.

“I know why you’re doing this, Sparrond—and I won’t allow it!” Marchelle boomed, “You’re supporting Spriggan so that he will send me and my father back to the Third Dimension, aren’t you?”

Sparrond lowered his gaze slightly, but then forced himself to look directly into Marchelle’s eyes.  He owed her and everyone else the truth.

“Yes,” he told her, “I brought you into this mess, Marchelle, and I alone am responsible for getting you out of it.  You cannot help us any longer, and you must go now.  Chief Spriggan has agreed to open a pathway for you and your father.  After you leave, we must try to find a way to work together and consolidate our reality into one that we can all live with.  We cannot do that while you and your father remain here.  You are the ones who connect us to your own dimension, and for the sake of both our realms we must separate right now.”

Patrick stepped in beside his distraught daughter and put his arm around her.

“You know that Sparrond is right, Marchelle,” he murmured, “It’s time to let go of this Other-World and return to the one that we both agreed to be born into, once upon a time.  In spite of the little points on our ears, we must accept the fact that we are flashy Elves no longer, but instead ordinary, hum-drum Human beings.”

Marchelle’s eyes filled with tears, but she offered no objection.  Sparrond and Sparrow surrounded her, illuminating her with their love.  Sparrow’s fellow Guardian-of-Trees, Lord Karshta, gestured an apology to his counterpart.

“Sparrow, Guardian-of-Birds,” he admitted to her, “You were right.  It is because of my foolishness in supporting Ablom and Marreke that I have failed to protect the trees from the Sprites’ scheme.  Without the trees, the birds will have no home.  Although it is doubtless too late, I choose to support your current action now.”

Sparrow embraced the elderly Faerie without a trace of bitterness, similarly welcoming Karshta’s friend Marroney as he moved to follow him.        

The two Earies Willowe and Carriseed decided to emulate Guardian Sparrow’s example.  They flew over to their bewildered peer, Jannah, and offered her their hands in reconciliation.  After a moment of hesitation, Jannah reached out and linked arms with them and they all went together to join the circle of support that was forming around Marchelle and Patrick.  Before long, they were joined by the Eaeries’ Faerie mother, Myarta, accompanied grudgingly by her grumbling mate Questard.  Once Questard the Elder had given in, the others quietly joined the circle until the light cast by The Elves and Faeries of Butternut Drumlin shone like a beacon in the night. 

Finally, the two “mischief-makers”, Ablom and Marreke, could hold out against their own people no longer.  They knew that their rash plan had backfired, and that there was little point in pretending otherwise.  They reluctantly re-joined their fellows when Patrick beckoned them to do so.

“Come, my two dear co-conspirators,” he called to them, “No more mud-making. My little joke is over, and no one is laughing.  It’s time for the three of us to redeem ourselves by doing a bit of good for a change.” 

After the Gnomes, Sylphs, and a small band of non-conforming Sprites had positioned themselves protectively around the outskirts of the Circle of Light, Spriggan at last stepped forward to fulfill his end of the bargain.  He stood behind them all, creating a cascading pathway of “stepping stones” with the help of the group’s increasingly powerful, multi-coloured lights.

“Go, now,” he called out to the Humans, “before the path fades; and do not look back after you have departed.”

Marchelle’s saddened gaze connected with Sparrond’s for what was likely the last time. 

Sparrond was unprepared for the torrent of emotion that sprung up within him.  He had surprised his own heart with the strength of his love for this young Human student. 

“It will be all right, Marchelle,” he reassured her, “Now that we have all united in our love for you and for each other, we have shown ourselves that we are powerful.  Spriggan will face an impossible task if he tries to suppress us now.  He will eventually have no choice but to work with us rather than against us...but we will need to focus wholly on re-claiming our own realm for a certain amount of time.  We can no longer sustain living in two realms simultaneously and will be separate from you, at least for now.  It will be similar for you and your friends as well, while you work to restore Jaybury Common in the Third Dimension.  It is time that we part company, Dear Friend; but know that I will never forget you, and all that you have taught me about myself.”

Marchelle reached out to stroke Sparrond’s visage, but he knew that she was losing her ability to perceive him.  Patrick at last took her by the hand and led her into the brightly shining Pathway of Light.  As they ventured onto the first “stepping stone” on their journey, Sparrond waved his farewell; but the two Humans were already moving forward towards their own world and they did not look back.        

 

                      

               

 

22: Chapter Twenty-Two: Blue Angels

Marchelle and Patrick stepped out of the path of flashing white light into the murky density of their own realm.

“Ah, welcome to the Third Dimension,” Patrick announced sardonically, “I can feel it by the weight of my own heart.”

Marchelle rubbed her eyes, momentarily blinded by the glow of the strange journey she had recently undertaken.  As her eyes adjusted to the relative “darkness” of her own world, she began to register a large number of people surrounding her, just as Sparrond and his people had done in the other world.  When the buzzing in her ears abated, she realized that the people around her were cheering in relief.

The first person she saw was her mother Sherryl, who rushed over and embraced her. 

“Marchelle, thank the Lord!” she cried, “We have been praying for your delivery ever since Norris told us what had happened.”

Marchelle looked at her Uncle in surprise as she reached out to give him a hug.

“Uncle Norris, how did you know where we went?” she asked in amazement.

“Ol’ Eachpek found me and gave me the low-down on what was happening with his people, the Common, and the Sprites’ nasty plan,” Norris explained, “he also told me that you and your Dad had gone on a little expedition.  By the time I rounded up everyone and came here, there was a local “thunderstorm” happening in Jaybury Common...J’Hai-A-tri as Eachpek calls it.  There was a grey mist blocking our view which also seemed to prevent all of us from entering onto the land! Butternut Drumlin stuck up out of the mist like a beacon and appeared relatively normal to me, but I just couldn’t get to it.  There was...something like a ‘force-field’ around the Common.”

Marchelle stared uneasily at her Uncle, and then at the crowd.  A number of men and women with measuring instruments were studying the outer limits of the area that Marchelle and Patrick had recently vacated.

“They’re scientists and surveyors,” Norris explained, “and they want to know what the ‘phenomenon’ is that’s stopping everyone from entering the Common lands which surround the Drumlin.”

She nodded at her Uncle’s explanation, realizing that this must seem to most people to be an event which had no reasonable explanation.  As she scanned the crowd, she saw to her delight that Bullrush was there, along with the Evanston family.  Standing beside them was a tall man with black hair that was so grey-speckled that it reminded Marchelle of salt and pepper combined.  She immediately recognized him as Mayor Barnaby Quinne, dressed smartly in his fine tweed suit in order to appear as leader-like as possible.  Bullrush waved at her, and then gestured to the Mayor to come over and talk to them.

“Marchelle,” Bullrush explained, “You and those flashy critters you chum about with have made a believer out of Mayor Quinne.  He’s willing to listen to us now, about keeping the Common as a parkland with no development anywhere around the Drumlin.”

Marchelle shook the Mayor’s hand, smiling faintly.  The moment was bittersweet, for she knew that, even if the Common became accessible to them, it would still be barren of trees and plants.  She supposed that the birds and animals that had lived in J’Hai-A-tri had fled to the top of Butternut Drumlin as she and her father had done. 

“Ms. Clairen,” Barnaby Quinne addressed her, “We’re not sure what happened at City Hall today, and we’re flabbergasted by what’s occurring at Jaybury Common right now.  As for myself, I’m prepared to believe just about anything after what I witnessed at the March.  We’ve brought in some experts to study the area around City Hall and the edges of the Common, but I’m afraid they’re not buying the local myth that’s been circulating around the city that Faeries and Elves have created this phenomenon.”

“Uh...actually, it’s the Sprites, Mayor Quinne,” Marchelle explained lamely, “there were only a few Faeries who were helping with the...er...’project’.”

They looked out over what used to be Jaybury Common.  A grey, glassy haze hung over it, blocking their view of what lay underneath.

“Well, whatever it is,” Quinne remarked, “It’s got the experts stumped.  You and your father were the only ones who were able to enter through the ‘force field’, or whatever it is, surrounding the Common land.”

“Don’t worry, Mayor Quinne,” Patrick reassured the politician breezily, “It will eventually bounce back, once the ‘two realities’ separate from each other.  The only problem will be that the land may not be the same as it once was, graced by the presence of trees, plants, and the like.”

Mayor Quinne frowned at Patrick’s pronouncement, as if not quite able to bring himself to believe that the Common, as they knew it, could have been destroyed.

“I thought that these...beings, if that’s what they are, were trying to save the natural lands?” Quinne queried in a bewildered manner.

“Yes, they are, Mayor Quinne,” Marchelle informed him, “but there are political disagreements in the Other-World, as there are in this one, as to how to accomplish that aim.  The Elves and many of the Faeries wanted to work with us to save the Common, but the Sprites believed that the only way to stop us in our destructive ways was to turn the Common into a bog.  In order to accomplish this transformation, it seems that it was necessary to separate their realm from this one.  Before this, Butternut Drumlin and its surrounding territory operated as a kind of ‘dual reality’ zone, between the Other-World and this one.”

As Marchelle spoke, the people in the crowd began to move in closer so that they could hear what the young girl was saying to the Mayor.  The Evanston family was among them; and young Chester evidently understood what was happening better than the grown-ups, unburdened as he was by the reasoning talents of adulthood.

“Angela the Blue Angel explained it all to me and Tara and Tyler,” he told them, “Jaybury Common will be a big, gunky pile of muck...none of Dad’s ‘dozers will work on it.  The Sprites took all the trees and stuff to their world, so there won’t be anything for us, unless we join together like in the March for the Sacred and ask the Cloud People to bring it back the way it was.”

Marchelle wondered who this “Angela the Angel” was that Chester kept talking about.  The young boy seemed to be as fully informed on the matter of The Transformation as she and Patrick and Uncle Norris were.  Chester’s mother Molly was nodding her head as her son spoke, but the rest of the people were barely listening to him.

The news reporter who had interviewed her during their unsuccessful protest a few weeks ago once again poked her intrusive microphone under Marchelle’s nose.

“Ms. Clairen,” she addressed her, “Martie Devon, from Jaybury City News.  What is your take on this strange phenomenon? Do you maintain that public accessibility to the Common and Butternut Drumlin has been compromised by a bunch of Elves?”

Marchelle sighed.  There was little point in denying what had happened, but she knew that she had to correct the rumor that had been circulating about the Elves having done the ‘dirty work’.

“Ms. Devon,” Marchelle replied, attempting to sound as ‘professional’ as possible, “This ‘phenomenon’, as everyone is calling it, has been caused by Sprites, not Elves.  There were only a few Faeries helping the Sprites.  The vast majority of local Faeries have supported the Elves’ stance and...”

Marchelle’s mother Sherryl interrupted the impromptu interview and snatched Martie’s microphone away from her.

“This girl is too exhausted for an interview, Hon,” she told the startled reporter, “why don’t you go interview a few of these Sprites, instead? They’re the ones who should be answering questions, after all the mess they’ve caused.”

Martie immediately turned on Sherryl.

“So, Sherryl Clairen, you support your daughter’s claim that Elves, Sprites and Faeries are real?” she asked pointedly.

Sherryl glared at her before retorting,

“Yes, Ms. Devon, I do!”

Before Martie Devon could ask Sherryl another question, a portly man in a blue-checkered coat strode up to her microphone and spoke into it unbidden.

“Yes, Ms. Devon,” Jonas Barker, the chief developer of the proposed Butternut Park Estates, concurred, “While Sherryl Clairen and her daughter are busy believing in Sprites, Elves, and Faeries, I believe in getting practical things done.  I’m hiring Charlie Evanston and his crew to bulldoze this ‘phenomenon’ right out of existence.  Once that’s done, we can stop chasing Faeries and start building the Butternut Park Estates.  Isn’t that right, Mayor Quinne?”

Mayor Quinne turned red as everyone stared at him curiously.

“Well, Jonas,” he stammered in embarrassment, “I think things have changed somewhat since we last spoke.  I don’t want to send in the bulldozers before we understand what’s happening here.”

Jonas Barker’s reply was interrupted by an agitated shriek from Chester Evanston.

“Dad!” he cried to his father Charlie, “You can’t bulldoze Jaybury Common anymore, don’t you understand? This is why the Sprites turned the land into a mucky-yucky bog.  The only way it’ll come back is if we do another March-for-the-Sacred, but we need to do it here, without marching.  We need to stand in a circle around Gray-Jaybury Bog and ask Angela and her Blue-Angel friends to change things around...but they won’t change anything unless we promise not to bull-doze!”

Charlie Evanston crouched down to look his son in the eye.  He appeared as embarrassed as Mayor Quinne, but he spoke to Chester before anyone else.

“Chester, I know you’re upset by this,” he told his son sheepishly, “but this is my job, and Mr. Barker hired me to do it.  I can’t back down from it because a bunch of otherworldly spirits has decided to play hardball with us.”

Marchelle realized that she needed to step in now and take charge of the situation, if they were ever to have any chance of reinvigorating Jaybury Common.

“Charlie,” she murmured, as Martie Devon stuck her microphone into the centre of the verbal fray, “You won’t be able to bulldoze your way through this.  None of us will...because Chester is right!”

She stood up, shouting out the last part of her sentence so that the crowd of people would hear her.

“Mr. Barker is wrong,” she bellowed, surprising herself with her own audacity, “We need to show more humility before this phenomenon, whether it is caused by Sprites, ghosts, or buzzing mosquitoes! What caused it doesn’t really matter.  What matters is how we respond to it.  Do we go in with guns blazing, like arrogant braggarts? Or, do we form a Sacred Circle around Jaybury Bog and pray for its transformation, just as Chester suggests? Remember, if we choose the latter, we are honor-bound to protect all of the land surrounding the Sacred Hill, Butternut Drumlin.”

The people in the crowd broke into a multitude of intense discussions, with some shouting out, “Form a Circle! Save the Common!” and others responding, “Bull-doze the Sprites right outta there! People Power!”

Before Martie Devon could poke her microphone under their noses again, Marchelle gestured to the Evanstons, her parents, and Uncle Norris that she needed to speak with them.  They left Bullrush and Mayor Barnaby Quinne to deal with the questions and followed her to a spot by the edge of the Common, apart from the crowd. 

“Chester,” she asked the boy, “Can you tell me a bit about these blue angels who’ve been talking to you?”

Chester nodded vigorously, as did his younger sister and brother.

“They speak to all three of us,” Chester said proudly, “Mostly, we speak with Angela, but lately she’s brought a few friends—we found out that they are actually called Sylphs, even though we still call them “The Blue Angels”.  They make their homes in the air, amongst the highest trees.  Angela says she’s also a Sylph, but she makes her home even higher up in the air—amongst the clouds.  So really, we think she is more of an angel.”

“Do you think you might be able to...er...call them down here?” Marchelle asked, not even knowing if such a thing were possible this late into The Transformation. 

Chester gestured to his siblings, bringing them a short distance from the adults, so that they could have a private conference. 

As they waited to hear back from the children, Marchelle quizzed Uncle Norris.

“Uncle Norris, what can you tell me about Eachpek?” she asked urgently, “Did he go back to his own realm after he warned you about the Sprites’ plan?”

“Well now,” Norris replied uncertainly, “I’m not sure, exactly.  He was with us at least up until the atmosphere around the Common land started going berserk.  Then I kind of lost my awareness of him, if you know what I mean.  It’s not every day that you witness a Common in the process of being turned into a magic bog!”

“Please, Uncle, try to contact him, can you?” Marchelle pleaded, as the three Evanston children returned.

“The kids have an answer for you, Marchelle,” Molly told her on the trio’s behalf, “at least, about Angela the Angel and her friends.”

“Okay, they’re here,” Chester informed them casually, as if announcing the arrival of a group of ordinary relatives, “Angela says they’re Air Sylphs, and two of them are from this area.  She says that they’re Sparrond’s Mum and Dad.”

Marchelle was thunderstruck to see three bluish-white blurrs floating in front of her.  No sooner had she perceived them than Uncle Norris’ Eaerie friend Eachpek showed up as well.

“Well,” Eachpek snapped impatiently, “are you ready take back J’Hai-A-tri and the Drumlin, or are you all just going to stand there like a bunch of moping slugs?”                       

 

  

 

              

                           

23: Chapter Twenty-Three: The Sacred Circle

Marchelle and her family were quick to organize the crowd into a semi-circle around “Gray-Jaybury Bog” as Chester now referred to the former Jaybury Common.  It made sense to take advantage of the fact that there were already a large number of people milling around watching the “phenomenon” of the grey-fogged “force-field” that was keeping them out of their own parkland. 

This way, Marchelle reasoned, they had a ready-made rally which was being advertised for free courtesy of Martie Devon and her crew of television raconteurs.  As they organized the people, Marchelle instructed Norris, Patrick, and Sherryl to “get people praying” or “sending out positive thoughts” towards Gray-Jaybury Bog.  Bullrush complained about what he considered the “silliness” of it all, but she did not have time to argue with him.  She knew that there were some people in the “semi-circle of love” who were not only not taking it seriously but overtly mocking the process.  Corey Nash, Marchelle’s most annoying heckler-turned-admirer, was one of those who seemed to be making fun of the whole thing.

“I’m here to support love!” he hooted, winking slyly at Marchelle, “Whoooo-hooo to love! Whooooo-hooooo to the Sprites!”

After a few minutes of such foolishness, Marchelle turned on the teenage boy angrily.

“Corey Nash, you either join us in a respectful manner, or you get your butt out of here!” she shouted, realizing to her astonishment that she sounded just like her mother.

She noticed that Sherryl turned her head and smiled knowingly, but she did not interfere with her daughter’s interaction with the incorrigible Corey.  Evidently, she understood that Marchelle was quite capable of speaking her own mind.  Chester Evanston, however, was listening not only to Marchelle and Corey, but to his “Blue Angels” as well.

“Sparrond’s Mum says that she thinks Corey likes you, Marchelle,” he informed her, “I think she figures you could marry him or something.”

“Tell Sparrond’s Mum ‘thank you, but no’,” Marchelle retorted to Chester irritably. 

She immediately regretted her words to the young boy, not because of Corey Nash and his ridiculous antics but because this was the first message that she had received from Sparrond’s mother.  Marchelle and the others had not yet been able to hear the voices of the beings that called themselves “Sylphs”, and so for her personally they did not yet possess the same degree of reality as Sparrond or Willowe did.  She, like the others, could visually perceive the three blue-white blurs that Chester referred to as “’Angela’ and ‘Sparrond’s Mum and Dad’”, but since she could not hear them she found herself in the unfamiliar position of responding to Chester the same way that most people once responded to her when she would tell them about talking with an Elf.

“Chester, wait,” Marchelle said to him as he turned to go back to his mother Molly, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to be rude to Sparrond’s Mum, okay? It’s just that I’m frustrated because I can’t hear them like you can.”

Chester nodded, accepting her apology nonchalantly.

“Sparrond’s folks say it’s okay,” he reassured her, “You’ve been used to talking to Elves and Faeries, and it takes practice to be able to hear Sylphs...it’s because they’re so high up, you know? Only us little kids can hear them, but if you keep trying, you’ll be able to hear them soon, too.”

“Did Sparrond’s parents tell you their names?” Marchelle asked the boy, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Yeah,” Chester told her, “but I can’t pronounce ‘em.”

At that point in the conversation, the being known as Eachpek again appeared to her.  Marchelle had not really had any direct dealings with the old Eaerie, but had only heard about him second-hand, through Norris.

“Their names, as translated into your language, are Moaga’ka’nara and Marrrondaakaanaak,” Eachpek informed her crisply, “They’ve said to me that you may as well shorten them to “Moaga” and “Marron” to make it easier for you.  As for Ajellaari’ka, you can just call her by Chester’s name for her, “Angela”.  They’re all here to help us pull J’hai-A-tri away from those power-hungry fools that have the nerve to call themselves ‘Sprites’.  Most Sprites that I have known would be appalled by what Spriggan and his gang have done.”

Marchelle remembered what Chief Spriggan had told her and Patrick about “Eachpek’s Compromise”.

“Eachpek,” Marchelle asked him, “When we were in “The Bog”, Spriggan told us that you had made some kind of a compromise with regard to J’hai-A-tri being transformed.  If you are so appalled by what he’s done, why did you compromise the health of the Common-lands?”

Eachpek slowed his light-wings until Marchelle could perceive him as a grey-and-red haired, elderly being with mint-green eyes.  He lowered his gaze slightly as he spoke.

“Marchelle,” he admitted, “Our people may occupy a slightly higher dimension than yours do, but we’re not perfect either.  I made a terrible mistake when I settled the dispute between Sparrond and Ablom.  I did not realize at that point that Spriggan and his gang would be involved in the process.  I made my decision out of my anger and disillusionment with Humans, but I should have seen past that to the dangers.  I cannot go back now and undo my decision, and so I have done the only thing that I could do, and I have deliberately remained in the Third Dimension so that I could help you mitigate the damage that has been done.  I was the one that sent word to Sparrond’s parents, who long ago made the decision to raise their vibratory rate high enough for them to join a Sylph community known as ‘The Silverforest Sylphdom’.  The Silverforest Sylphdom vibrates at a higher frequency than does either of our realms, and so occupies a completely different level or dimension of time and space...” 

Eachpek paused to let Marchelle digest what he was saying.  She had read about the idea of time and space being simultaneously shared by many different dimensions, but she had to admit that she found the concept somewhat mind-boggling to contemplate. 

“By the time his parents made the decision to increase their vibration, Sparrond had reached adulthood,” Eachpek resumed his story, “and he had other plans.  He made a decision to stay within the lower vibration because he didn’t want to leave Butternut Drumlin.  He wanted to remain an Elf and stay within the Elven community, for that was where his heart had called him.  Moaga and Marron were saddened by their son’s decision, but they understood it and they supported him in it.  They once told me they always knew that one day Sparrond would need to contend with Spriggan and the rebel Sprites, but they could not protect him from this particular destiny.” 

“I’ve convinced the Sylphs that they need to interfere in this instance in order to mitigate the damage that has been caused,” Eachpek continued, “Spriggan has performed an act, with the help of Marreke and Ablom, which is not permitted.  According to the General Laws of The Higher Realms, we are not supposed to interfere with the physical characteristics of a lower dimension.  In spite of this, all of us have been bending that law considerably in our haste to protect J’hai-A-tri and the Sacred Hill.”   

Marchelle nodded, remembering with some guilt how gleefully they had all accepted the Faeries’ miring of Charlie Evanston’s bulldozers in the temporary “magical mud” that had caused such havoc for the workers.  She could understand how Ablom and Marreke, the two magical mischief-makers, would be tempted to take their talents one step further by collaborating with the Sprites’ transformational powers.

Before she did anything else, she decided that she needed to sit down quietly by the edge of the “Bog” and meditate.  If she could speak with Moaga and Marron directly, it would help her immensely in guiding the crowd of people that had assembled here.  At the present moment, she felt confused and disoriented.  As she sat on a nearby rock, she concentrated on listening not only to the beat of her physical heart, but to its deeper spiritual pulse as well. 

Eachpek flew off to find Norris, leaving Marchelle the private space she needed to contact Moaga and Marron.  She intended to contact them herself, but young Chester came by and sat down beside her wordlessly.  She could feel his presence buoying her spirits, so she concentrated on that until she could hear in her mind a faint hum.  The humming sound became louder as she concentrated on it, until at last she began to make out a kind of static, similar to what one would hear when changing channels on a radio.  Soon, the words began to crystallize into incomprehensible sound units, but Marchelle could make out the meaning of them without necessarily understanding the peculiar language that was being used in the transmission.

She felt very strongly that Moaga was urging her to guide the assembled crowd of people in a meditation, and that in this journey of the mind they were to visualize a pond surrounded by trees.  A picture settled itself in Marchelle’s mind as an example:  it was the image of a wooded grassland area that appeared to be Jaybury Common, except for the fact that it had a big pond in the middle of it.  The pond was a dark blue color, and it was big enough that she could have gotten away with calling it a small lake.  She sat with the picture in her mind for as long as she was able, before her thoughts and worries began to congest the clear channel that had been created between herself and Moaga.

“Marchelle!” a voice from outside her called.

She opened her eyes, reluctant to leave the connection that had been forged.

“Marchelle, what are we doing now?” Sherryl asked her, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but people are getting restless.  Some are praying, some are meditating, some are singing and dancing and drumming, and others are fooling around.  I think we need a central focus of some kind, Honey.”

Marchelle smiled at her mother, having gained a bit of clarity through the short interaction with Moaga.

“I’ve got an idea,” she replied, jumping up.

She ran with Chester to the center of the line of people and whistled.  Her whistle was not particularly attention-grabbing, so Chester’s mother Molly supplemented it with a shrill, train-like siren of her own.  The people stopped whatever they were doing and turned their attention towards the big, red-haired pregnant woman in front of them.

“Listen up, you Lollygaggers!” she called to them in a loud but good-natured manner, “Marchelle has something to tell you.”

“Yes,” Marchelle called out with as strong a voice as she could muster, “I’d like to suggest that we engage in a meditation...”

She was interrupted by a chorus of raucous “What?s” and “We can’t hear you!s”, which had the effect of lessening her confidence in her own voice.  Thankfully, the two police officers Bentley and Vic, who had been at both the protest and the march, were also in attendance at this new gathering.  Vic, a short but stocky woman, sidled over to Marchelle and lent her the megaphone that she had used at the City Hall protest.

“Speak into it clearly and confidently, like your Mom would do,” Vic instructed her, “Don’t be afraid to project some authority and power, and put a little bluster into it...the guys do it all the time.” 

Marchelle thanked the policewoman for her unexpected advice, gratefully accepting the megaphone.  She took a deep breath and brought the device up in front of her mouth.

“All right, people!” she barked out authoritatively, feeling somewhat fraudulent in her cultivated boldness, “We need to get organized, now! I’m going to lead you all in a meditation, so that we can focus our thoughts and prayers together.  If you want to experience this as a prayer, as a meditation, or as an imaginary exercise, you do that.  You call it whatever you want, but I need you all to focus on a certain image of Jaybury Common.  I am going to describe that image now, and I need you to go within and imagine it in your own way.  Okay? You got it?”

The crowd was silent now, so Marchelle assumed that they had understood her instructions.  Although she was experienced in organizing small groups of people, leading a crowd this size was definitely beyond her comfort zone.  Nonetheless, she decided to press on, behaving as though she was quite accustomed to leading parents, politicians, police officers, news teams, and other adults who were more than twice her age in what many people would see as an “airy-fairy meditation”. 

She went within, and focused on her breath for a few moments before she instructed her audience to also go within and focus on their breathing.  She brought them through a few muscle-relaxing exercises that she had heard on her meditation CDs.  She was surprised how cooperative they were in following her instructions, but she refused to let her ego dwell on it.  She described the scene that Moaga had given her:  the grassy fields with woodland interspersed between them, including both deciduous and coniferous trees.  She encouraged them to imagine the big blue pond that she had seen in her mind’s eye, with the individual trees surrounding the body of water rather than being swamped by it.  She then invited them to enter into their own prayer or time of silence and imagine the true nature of the land that surrounded the sacred Drumlin.

For a few moments, there was a peaceful silence.  During this time, Marchelle felt that she was floating upwards to a place which seemed to be in both dimensions but at the same time was in neither of them.

She felt rather than saw the presence of her friend and mentor, Sparrond.  He was joined by his Life-Friend Sparrow and the young Eaerie Willowe, who had been in contact with her regarding the Sacred March.

“Marchelle,” Sparrond said to her, “our two realms are now in touch with each other through this tiny sliver of a connection.  We have also succeeded in arranging ourselves in a semi-circle of light so that we can meet the one that you Humans have created.  When we reach the Sacred Circle connection, the Sprites’ “bog” will transform within both our realms...with the help of my parents and all the other Sylphs of the Water, Air, and Ground.  When our creation is finished, the two realms will be physically separate, and yet connected through our spirits.”

“Does that mean I won’t ever see you again, Sparrond?” Marchelle asked sorrowfully, “or Willowe, or Sparrow?”

“We will always be here, Marchelle,” Sparrow spoke to her softly, “although you will not see us as vividly as you once did.  After J’hai-A-tri has been restored to us it will have a body of water in the centre of it, as the beings from the Higher Realms needed somewhere to siphon the excess water created by Spriggan’s bogus bog.  It will be slightly different than it was before, but the Sylphs are trying as best they can to remain true to the original form.  Both the Humans and Nature Spirits from our two realms will need to work hard to maintain the integrity of the area.  We Elves and Faeries will need to work closely with Spriggan and the rebel Sprites in order to teach them how to work together more harmoniously with other beings.  Their plan for the bog has created so much chaos here that even Spriggan has abandoned his own scheme!”

Marchelle was relieved to hear that the Nature Spirits were recovering from their crisis.  She realized that her task in all this would be to convince some of her own people not to build on the newly created land.

“You and your friends will have your work cut out for you in protecting the Jaybury Lake area from the Gruff-Jabbers, Marchelle,” Willowe echoed her Human friend’s thoughts, “but I think you will succeed...in fact, I know you will.”

With those last encouraging words from Willowe, Marchelle sunk back into her physical body.  She desperately wanted to stay and talk with her Other-worldly friends, but the connection had been severed.  It was time for the two halves of the “Sacred Circle” to join, and that could only be accomplished while both sides remained firmly in their own realms. 

Marchelle spoke once more into the megaphone, guiding people back from their collective time of contemplation.  She then asked them to imagine two halves of a circle uniting in sacred harmony.  As the group joined together in this act of imagination, they felt a slight jolt and a humming noise.  When they opened their eyes, they saw the grey “mist” rising up into the air in rings and fading as it rose higher into the air.  They saw the Common filled with a blue light, and Marchelle supposed that these must be the Sylphs or “Blue Angels” as Chester called them.  There seemed to be a great number of them working on the “restoration project”.  She wanted them to succeed, and so she called to people to close their eyes once more and concentrate on imagining the Sacred Circle connection. 

As they grew quieter within their imaginings, Marchelle could feel a tremendous peace within her.  It was a calm sense of serenity which quelled the anxious feelings that she had harbored within her ever since she had begun fighting for the Butternut Drumlin area.  She saw a vision of all her people and all of Sparrond’s standing together as one.  As they stood, a bluish-white light descended on them all and the image again came into her mind of two halves of a “Circle of Light” joining into one whole.  She knew now that Sparrond’s realm and hers had connected in spirit, even though they no longer shared the same physical link that they once did.   

“Open your eyes, Marchelle,” two clear voices commanded her in unison, “It is done.”

Marchelle recognized the voices as those of Moaga and Marron, even though she had never really heard them speak her language before.  The once-Elven parents who had transformed themselves into the beings known as “Sylphs” were nonetheless a deep reminder to her of their son Sparrond, along with his mate Sparrow. 

As she opened her eyes, she immediately put her lips to the megaphone and instructed her people to open theirs as well.  As she brought the megaphone down, she gasped in astonishment at what she saw.

There in front of them was a pristine mixture of deep green fields and scattered woodlands—it appeared almost as it had before the grey “force field” had blocked their view of Jaybury Common.  The one obvious thing that had changed, however, was that there now appeared to be a large blue “lake” in the middle of the Common, just at the edge of Butternut Drumlin.  It appeared similar to the one that they had all been imagining in their meditations.

“Will you look at that!” cried Molly Evanston, “It’s a miracle from the angels!”

“Angela is high-up enough to be an angel,” Chester reminded his mother, “and she’s the one leading it.  The other ones are Sylphs from the sky and the water and the land.”

The others were absolutely speechless as they gaped at the new lake.  They heard whispers of “but that’s impossible!” throughout the crowd, and it seemed as though the multitude of people who were witnessing the “miracle” were learning a lesson in appreciation for the sacred elements of the natural world.

Before long, people began to huddle into various groups, discussing the strange experience amongst themselves.  The scientists and surveyors who had been studying the misty “force field” around the former bog had stood off to one side during the meditation; and judging from their expressions Marchelle thought they were now beyond perplexed.  She knew that no training or knowledge that they had amassed in their life-times would begin to explain what they had seen.  They tentatively began to explore the Jaybury Common area now that the mysterious “mist” was no longer keeping them out.  Marchelle gestured to the others to enter into the new landscape.  As she and her family members walked through the fields and woodlands, the people followed cautiously until the entire crowd had moved to the edge of the lake.  There was a sense of reverence and awe as they stood before the newly birthed body of water. 

Even Martie Devon and her news crew had become silent as they took in the beauty of their new surroundings.  The children who were present were the first to break the silence as they raced around the lake joyously, picking up stones and trying to make them skim across the surface of the water.  Among those observing this idyllic scene was an astounded Jonas Barker; and Marchelle was relieved to see that Barker’s face was positively beaming with the sunniest of smiles.  Her relief was unfortunately short lived, as Jonas strode over to her and grabbed the megaphone out of her hand without asking either her or the policewoman Vic whether he could have it.

“Listen up, all of you!” he barked, “I have just had a vision—a vision, I tell you! I have a new plan:  I have decided to trade in my dream of building The Butternut Park Estates in favor of creating a whole neighborhood of summer cottages, to be built in a big circle around this lake.  I call it The Jaybury Lake Family Holiday Getaway!  It would draw in tourists from all over.  What do you say, Mayor Quinne?”

Marchelle and her friends stared at Barker in shocked fury, but some of the people in the crowd appeared enchanted by the idea and cheered Barker’s proposal.

Mayor Barnaby Quinne looked at Marchelle and the others before turning his gaze back to Jonas Barker.  He seemed confused.

“I...” he stammered, barely recovered from the magnificent transformation that he had witnessed, “I don’t know about that, Jonas.  I’m sorry, but I will need to talk about this issue at an emergency Council meeting.  I realize that you have this dream of building something here, but that dream is not necessarily shared by everyone in Jaybury.”

“You can’t build here, Mayor Quinne!” Marchelle cried, “Not after everything that the Sylphs have given us—this land around the lake is sacred, like everything else that surrounds Butternut Drumlin.”

Marchelle’s heart was sinking fast.  Had the Sylphs re-created this beautiful place out of the Sprites’ mess only to have Humans destroy it with commercial ventures?

“Hang on a minute, Mayor Quinne!” Marchelle’s mother Sherryl interjected, “and you too, Jonas Barker.  If you crowd this place with individual cottages, it will mess up the whole vibe that we can all feel here.  After all, this body of water that has been created for us by those Sylphs or Angels or whatever they are is more of a large pond than a lake.  It couldn’t possibly sustain a whole cottage industry.  What if Jonas and his crowd put their creative efforts into building one holy retreat center? People could come and stay there, and they could meditate or commune with nature or pray according to their beliefs...then they could go for a little swim.”

Mayor Quinne looked as though he had just been given a revelation of his own.  His face broke into a wide grin as he imagined the possibility of what Sherryl had just suggested.  As the people chattered amongst themselves, Marchelle brought her family and friends around her for their own “council meeting”.

“So, what do you think of my little compromise, Hon?” Sherryl asked her daughter.

Marchelle wore a worried expression on her face.  It seemed like a good idea from a Human perspective, but what would Sparrond and his people think of such a thing?  She looked towards Uncle Norris, hoping that Eachpek was still with him.

“We can’t ask Eachpek about it,” Norris explained to his niece, knowing instinctively that she wanted to consult the elder Eaerie, “the Sylphs brought him back to his own realm when they were finished.  Before he left, he told me that we can still contact them through meditation, but it won’t be the same as it was before all this happened.  The physical bridge between the Human and Elven worlds has been closed—for now, at least.  Eachpek says it’s time for us to stand on our own and make our own decisions without being influenced by the “little guys”.  They need some time away from us, too.”

Marchelle felt a sadness enveloping her heart as she considered the fact that her mother’s compromise might be the only way to keep the vibrant lands surrounding Butternut Drumlin safe from complete assimilation into the drab world of Human commercialism.  She looked at Bullrush, who was shaking his head doubtfully.

“It would be a money-making venture, just like any other,” he said to her, “I don’t think a building is any more sacred than another simply by hanging a sign on it that says ‘Holy’...but that’s just my opinion, Marchelle.”

Marchelle nodded, grateful for Bullrush and his unsentimental honesty.  She looked to her father to see what he thought about it.  Patrick Connolly, as usual, wore a cheerful, optimistic expression on his face.

“Now then, Buster Rush,” he chided the older man, “Let’s not rush into a gloom-and-doom scenario just yet.  This idea of Sherryl’s just might work, if it’s done properly.  My stars, it’s not every day that your mother and myself agree, Marchelle.”

“I think Angela would like a praying-place to be built here,” Chester added enthusiastically, to Marchelle’s considerable surprise, “and besides, it would give my Dad some work.”

Chester’s father Charlie simply stared ahead of himself, completely muted by the odd transformation that he had witnessed.  Marchelle nodded at Charlie’s young son, appreciative of his input.  She was thankful to all of them for standing by her throughout this ordeal, but she knew that she needed to consult her own heart first and foremost.  As she quieted her mind and went within, she felt a deep love wash over her for all the people that were assembled here, from her friends and family to Martie Devon’s news crews to the surveyors and scientists to the politicians...to even Corey Nash, her annoying would-be heckler; and finally to Jonas Barker, who was truly every environmentalist’s nemesis. 

Her heart had at last reached its decision.  Before her mind had come to any conclusions, however, her moment of contemplation was interrupted by a shout from Charlie Evanston.

“Quick, everyone!” Charlie called, “Help me get Molly to the hospital—she’s about to have her baby!”

 

                                     

 

                 

 

                  

                         

 

                 

24: Chapter Twenty-Four: The Birth of a Miracle

Molly Evanston looked up at Marchelle and Sherryl from her hospital bed, tenderly holding her newborn daughter.  Charlie stood proudly beside her, beaming from ear to ear.

“We’ve decided to name her Angela Marchelle Evanston,” Molly explained as Marchelle’s jaw dropped in surprise.

“Wow, Molly...you’re naming your daughter’s middle name after me? That’s truly an honor!”

Sherryl put her arm around Marchelle and squeezed her appreciatively.  She then poked her head out the door and bade Norris and Patrick to bring Angela Marchelle’s three siblings in to see her and their mother.  Chester, Tara, and Tyler rushed ahead into the room like a couple of twirling tornados. 

They were followed by Uncle Norris and Patrick, who had been appointed the chief baby-sitters back at Jaybury Lake while Sherryl, Marchelle, and Charlie had supported Molly in walking as best she could to the nearest road.  The Police officers Vic and Bentley had arranged for an ambulance to come for Molly and had helped the paramedics to transfer her into the emergency vehicle.  They had then hastily escorted all of them to the open doors of Jaybury General Hospital, where the tiny being had finally been born.

 When Molly told Chester his infant sister’s name, he let out a great big “whoooop!” sound.  He was ecstatic that the child had been named after “his” angel, Angela.  Tara was also excited because she finally had a little sister to even the score with her two brothers.  The youngest boy, Tyler, was not at all sure he liked the idea of an interloper supplanting his position as baby-of-the-family, and so he hung back with Patrick.

“Don’t worry son,” Patrick reassured the boy, “You’re a big brother now, and so you’ll have a younger one that you can boss around!”

Tyler seemed to brighten at the thought of being able to be a “big-brother-boss”, but even so he refused to approach the baby. 

“Perhaps Tyler and I will go get a biscuit,” Patrick said as he led the three-year-old out into the hallway of the busy hospital ward.

“I wish you’d been that helpful back when I gave birth,” Sherryl said to him slyly as he exited.

“Thanks, Paddy,” Charlie called out to him in a more appreciative tone, “I owe you one, Buddy.”

“And we owe a great deal to you and your family, Charlie,” Marchelle told him truthfully, “I’m not sure I could have led the March and the Sacred Circle without Molly, Chester, and the other two kids supporting me.  I’m really sorry for miring your bulldozers in the mud a month or so ago...or at least, getting them stuck with the help of the Faeries.”

Charlie smiled at her, shrugging his shoulders.

“Hey, I’m the bad guy, remember?” he reminded her, “I’m the one who’s supposed to apologize...but I think instead of just saying ‘I’m sorry’ for trying to ‘doze the Common, I’ve made the decision not to take Jonas Barker’s contract.  I don’t really care if he’s building estates or summer cottages or retreat houses, I just feel now that my heart’s not in it.”

Marchelle stared at him in surprise.  Charlie Evanston, the ever-practical bull-dozer driver, was turning down a lucrative contract?  Molly Evanston, however, did not appear at all surprised by Charlie’s decision and gazed at her husband approvingly. 

“Charlie’s willing to do anything he has to in order to support his family,” Molly explained, “but he won’t break the kids’ hearts by mucking up the land that they love.”

“But...what are you going to do, Charlie?” Marchelle asked him, concerned. 

The last thing she wanted was for Charlie to be out of work because of her alliance with his wife and kids over the past couple of weeks.

“Well,” Charlie responded, “If this Retreat Center does get built, they’ll need someone to run it.  I figure Molly and I would have the practical know-how to do that kind of thing.  Molly would run the business end of it and I could be the Groundskeeper and General Handyman.”

“You’d better believe it,” Molly agreed, “I’ve got business smarts in my blood.  I can run that thing with four kids and my eyes closed.  Where do we put in our resumes, Sherryl?”

Sherryl roared in laughter at the Evanstons’ enthusiasm for the project.  Chester and Tara were jumping up and down in excitement.

“We get to live at Jaybury Lake!” Tara cried.

“It hasn’t even been given the go-ahead, let alone the building permit,” Sherryl told them in between chuckles, “I think we may be getting ahead of ourselves just a bit.”

Buster Rush had ambled into the room just in time to hear Charlie’s proposal.  He had brought as a gift of a handful of flowers in a vase, which he set down on a table near Molly and her baby.  He grinned somewhat awkwardly at them, before turning his attention to the topic of the building plans for Jaybury Lake.  

“I thought you folks might like to know,” he announced, “Mayor Barnaby Quinne just held an emergency Town Hall meeting to discuss the recent happenings as well as Jonas Barker’s proposal, and I decided to go to it.  I’m not much good when it comes to babies being birthed, so that’s where I was while you good people were tending to Molly.”

Marchelle’s heart almost leapt into her mouth when Bullrush spoke about the Town Hall meeting.  She looked at him with great urgency in her eyes, but he returned her gaze in a steady, reassuring manner.

“The vast majority of the townspeople have decided that they don’t want to crowd out the pond with a bunch of tourists’ cottages,” the elderly social activist continued, “They prefer your idea, Sherryl, and the Mayor agrees.  Jonas Barker is not too pleased, but the Mayor did promise him a building project of some kind so they’re going to go with the Retreat House.  Quinne has put in several stipulations, however.  He wants it done in such a way that it’s environmentally-friendly, as he hopes to work with the land rather than against it.  I think he may actually be afraid that some of your flashy Sprite pals are going to come back, Marchelle.”

“But Jonas Barker is almost like a Sprite himself—any project he touches will be bogged down by commercial interests!” Marchelle objected, “He’ll no doubt want to turn the whole thing into a carnival.”

“Yes,” Bullrush replied, “and that’s exactly why I suggested to the Mayor that he appoint a board to supervise the project.  I told him to put people on it from both the business and the environmental camps, and to create this thing in a way that doesn’t take away from the natural environment.  I reminded them all that the land around the Drumlin is a commons—it belongs to everyone.  Therefore, this board of theirs will need to be accountable to all the people.  So, if any of you are looking for jobs, I’d suggest you apply to City Hall for a spot on the Holy-Retreat-House Chain Gang.”

Marchelle hated the very notion of Barker being one of the leaders on the project.  Perhaps, though, if Bullrush’s idea about having some sort of “Board of Directors” was effective, it might succeed in guiding Jonas’ hand so that the Butternut Drumlin landscape was not compromised.

“There is one thing, though,” Marchelle warned, “in order for this idea to work well for the Jaybury Lake vicinity, the Retreat House would have to be the only thing that was built there.  People who are planning a retreat will be looking for a place that is quiet and serene, not a three-ring circus by the pond.”

“Yeah,” concurred Bullrush, “but we do need to stipulate that everyone still have access to the Drumlin and surrounding land, not just the guests staying at the Retreat House.  This needs to remain a public project...we need to be Jonas’ boss, not the other way around.  Say, maybe you and I need to get our resumes in to City Hall, Marchelle.”

“Well, at any rate,” Sherryl broke in, as Patrick and Tyler returned with the crumbs of biscuits all over their shirts, “I’m sure all of us together will be able to make enough noise to get them going in the right direction.  In the mean time, folks, I’m putting on my nurse’s hat and telling all you non-Evanstons to clear out so that Molly and her baby can rest and visit with their family.  It’s been a long day, and it’s time for us to go home now, Ms. Marchelle.”

Marchelle hugged the three kids before they bid good-bye to the Evanston family for the day. 

“We’ll keep you posted, Chester, as to what’s happening with this thing,” Marchelle promised, “You and Angela the Angel may be needed so that we can steer the Mayor and Mr. Barker in the right direction.”

“Angela says it’ll work out,” Chester told her nonchalantly, “and since she’s an angel, she knows what’s ahead.”

Marchelle nodded, squeezing his hand.  She followed the others out of the room but looked back one more time to see Molly and Charlie as they beheld their tiny miracle, swaddled in pink cloth. 

Marchelle and Sherryl then linked arms with each other and walked home.  She had a strong feeling in her heart that the birth of the baby was a good sign of things to come; and she knew that with the help of her friends and family, they would together bring many new miracles into the world.                                                       

 

                  

25: Epilogue: Drummin' on the Drumlin

Sparrond surveyed the newly re-created world that had been brought into existence through the spiritual joining of the two halves of the Sacred Circle of Light.  It was a particularly auspicious time in the Realm of the Nature Spirits:  they had been successful in saving J’hai-A-tri by separating physically from the Third Dimension, yet at the same time retaining their spirit connection with the Human Realm.

J’hai-A-tri was again a green land, covered with grasses and trees, along with a new, beautiful blue pond in the middle of it.  All of the beings, whether they were Elves, Faeries, Gnomes, Sylphs, or Sprites, were celebrating every single day by light-dancing amidst the golden rays of the Sun-Spirit.       

Although it was wonderful to have gained their land back, Sparrond was definitely going to miss Marchelle.  Every time he thought about her, his heart ached.  He longed to speak with her once more, but he knew that was impossible at present.  Perhaps one day, if the Humans managed to increase their vibratory rate, the two realms might link once more on the physical level.  Until that time, however, he would have to be content with minimal contact through meditation and prayer.

The one consolation was that he had been reunited with his Sylphan parents, Moaga and Marron.  Their time together had been brief, but it had been wonderful to hear about their adventures in the Silverforest Sylphdom and to share with them his and Sparrow’s antics in the Elven land.  When it was time for them to go home, Sparrond was again sad; but he knew that his mother and father needed to return to their own higher realm as they could no longer function at the Elven level of existence.

Before they left, however, Moaga and Marron had performed a Sylph blessing for both Sparrond and his Life-Friend Sparrow.  They had sent blue-and-white light pulsing through them, giving them a deep feeling of being loved by the couple.     

“You are both to be blessed by a joyous event,” Moaga had told them before she and her own Life-Friend had departed.

For some time after that, Sparrond was uncertain as to what this “joyous event” could possibly be.  He did not think that there could be any more joyous event than the salvation of the land which surrounded the Sacred Hill known as Butternut Drumlin.  Then, one day, Sparrow gave him incredible news.

“Sparrond,” she told him, “I will be giving birth to twins this year—I feel very strongly that we are having a boy and a girl.  You and I are to be parents!”

Sparrond felt his heart light up like the very Sun of the Universe.  He had no words to express his joy, and so he called for all his friends to come to his home so that he and Sparrow could announce the upcoming births.  All of the council members from the newly created Elven-Faerie United Circle arrived to hear the news and offer their hearty congratulations.  They all agreed that, after the babies were born, they would hold an Elven Naming Ceremony for the new arrivals on top of Butternut Drumlin.

Willowe and Carriseed, the young Eaerie twins, were ecstatic and could hardly wait for the day to dawn when they would be joined by the community’s second set of twins.

“If one of them is a girl, I’d like to propose naming her after our Human friend, Marchelle,” Willowe suggested, “I hope I am not being impudent by putting forth that idea.”

“No, of course not, Willowe,” Sparrow reassured her, “I completely agree with you.  In fact, I had that very same thought come to me...what a wonderful idea to name our daughter in honor of our dear Marchelle!”

“Or, perhaps some variation of the name,” Sparrond interjected, “Since if we one day reunite with Marchelle, we will then know which of the two girls are being summoned when we speak their names!”

It was many Elven months before the twins’ Day-of-Birth arrived, but when it did it was truly the most beautiful and sacred experience of the couple’s lives.  As Sparrow had predicted, the Light-Babies were born in the form of one boy and one girl.  The Elven infants were born not amid pangs of pain as was the case in the Human world, but amid pangs of deep joy. 

When Myarta, their duly appointed Faerie mid-wife, handed Sparrond his son he was enchanted to behold the child.  The boy had been born with wispy blue hair and lavender eyes, like his mother; and the girl, who was being cuddled by Sparrow, had her father’s reddish-orange hair and sky-blue eyes.  Sparrond was deeply grateful for the years spent mentoring the young Human girl Marchelle and watching her develop into a young woman, for he knew that it had prepared him for this very special moment in his life. 

As promised, there was a great gathering atop Butternut Drumlin.  Births in this realm were relatively rare compared to the Human realm, as Nature Spirits led lives which often endured several centuries or more.  When the news was sent out, hundreds of beings from every nearby rock hollow, tree hollow, or water nest wanted to come to honor the new beings.  The births had the effect of uniting many groups of people who had previously kept themselves separate from the Elves and Faeries.  The ceremony was attended by everyone, from Gnarlus and his band of Gnomes to Chief Spriggan and his Sprites.

Spriggan especially seemed to harbor a strong desire for redemption after his catastrophic “Bog” fiasco.  He had been making every effort to help maintain the new form of J’hai-A-tri, or Ja’Kra’Mogh as Spriggan still insisted on calling it.  Even with the help of the wayward Faeries Ablom and Marreke, he had been unable to maintain the integrity of his former Bog and it had therefore collapsed into a Barren Zone.  If the Elves, Faeries, and Humans had not formed a Sacred Circle and had the Sylphs not arrived to re-create the area, it would surely have fallen into complete and irretrievable chaos.  Spriggan knew how close he had come to destroying their collective home, and it had shocked him into changing his attitude.  Instead of continuing his role as a trouble-maker, the Chief of Sprites had now become a champion of the new, cooperative agreements being forged between the various groups of people who inhabited J’hai-A-tri/Ja’Kra’Mogh.

The former mischief-makers Ablom and Marreke had also changed their attitudes and were now working as liaisons between the newly formed Sprite Confederacy and the Elven-Faerie United Circle.  They had even succeeded in opening up a dialogue between the two groups and Gnarlus’ Gnomes.

No matter what their various political camps and alliances were, however, today was a day solely for joining together in joy.  All the beings, from the Elves, Faeries, Gnomes, Water Sylphs, and Ground Sylphs to the Sprites, gathered around the couple and their two tiny babes.  They intoned a blessing, and each group took turns singing their own peoples’ Birth Songs. 

There was a moment of solemn silence, during which the babies slept peacefully in their parents’ arms.  Then, Willowe and Eachpek came forward with symbolic gifts for the children.  Willowe, the young Eaerie, had brought a twig from a Willow tree for the female infant.  As she laid the twig before Mother Sparrow, she cried out the name of the child: 

“Marshella Birthspring!”

Mother Sparrow bowed appreciatively to Willowe, her designated Name-Speaker for the Daughter-of-the-Ceremony.

“I give you the sprig of Willow as a sign of new life,” Willowe intoned. 

The next to come forward was the old Eaerie, Eachpek.  He stepped over to the male infant with a hand-crafted sculpture in his hands, made of the spirit-wood of an old oak tree.  The sculpture was of a “Gruff-Jabber”, or “Bull-Dozer” as the Humans would have called it.  As he gave the sculpture to Sire Sparrond, he cried out the name of the child:

“Marrond Wintergreen!”

Sire Sparrond likewise bowed to Eachpek, his designated Name-Speaker for the Son-of-the-Ceremony.

“I give you this miniature Gruff-Jabber, hand-crafted as it was from the spirit-wood of oak, as a symbol of Nature’s victory over the forces of destruction,” Eachpek explained.

Sparrond and Sparrow chuckled at Eachpek’s rather unorthodox choice of a gift, but they were nonetheless grateful to him for what he had done to help the Humans.

“Thank you, to our gracious Name-Speakers and to one and all,” Sparrond called out, “and now, it is time to dance, and dance, and dance to the sound of the Elven drums!”

Lord Karshta, the Guardian-of-Trees, began to beat slowly on his echo-drums, gaining speed and momentum as he journeyed further into the rhythm of his instrument.  The birds’ songs chimed in harmoniously with the drumming sound until a new energy was created that inspired all the beings to jump up and dance in a Sacred Circle formation, surrounding the parents and their two tiny infants.

“Let us rejoice in the miracle of life!” Chief Spriggan cried, “Let us dance atop this Sacred Hill and sing our gifts of gratitude to The Elves of Butternut Drumlin!”

And so, the Nature Beings danced, and danced, and danced to the music of Love’s eternal light.