亚洲综合中美

“Teacher, are the fairies real?” wondered the thinner lass bearing thickly bundled hair and jam prominent on her worn shirt. Freckles marked her cheeks, remnants of maladies laid on her neck downward, little spots of dark to light brown – present on her light complexion. She bore whiskers and no tail, her ears stuffed within the bundle, the rounded nose lifted at him curiously.

“Faes,” he moved and scanned the entourage, two of additional children arrived, siblings of the bunny-trait boy, “-are guardians of the forest,” he explained and gestured for siblings to approach. One bore spotted ears, after the stream, darted behind a tree and crouched. The other, older by appearance, pushed on his toes and stopped, a fatigue glance at the hidden fellow, he reached and pulled. “-We’re going to miss brother.”

Igna halted the explanation, “-Tim,” he said,”-go check on your brother and sister.”

“Why me,” the boy widened his mouth and shook the head, one foot behind the other, he spun and swayed to the noisy two. In the distance, cautious bunny-trait parents clenched their fingers in prayer.

“Tim, take your siblings and go home.”

“But master...’

.....

“No arguing,” narrowed a deepened tone, “-you won’t miss anything, I promise,” *snap,* a green butterfly fluttered to stand on Tim’s slumped shoulder, “-a guardian fae.”

“Awesome!” cheered the boy, the steps faded, “-come on you two,” he grabbed both hands and skipped over the pleasantly flowing water. Relieved sigh pressed the parents – the father knelt and deeply locked the youngers’ shoulder. The mother wrapped her arms around Tim and laughed, her sharp sense locked onto the butterfly, a quick pinch shattered the fae into green mist.

“Teacher,” eyed the eccentric girl, “-please tell me, what are faes?”

“Not going home?”

“No,” she averted his gaze, “-please, teach me about the faes.”

“Okay,” he exhaled, “-follow me,” hands in pocket, the forest trail deepened, and soon, the stream turned a mild background noise. A fork laid on a broad clearing – right side carried onto slopes until a windmill in the distance. The left side bravely inclined into dark and dangerous territory.

“Terisa, look here,” back against the fork, “-the forest around is alive. Fairies and spirits are not scary, they maintain the law and order of the plants and animals. I call them guardians,” the palm opened, “-with practice,” lines of differing hues trailed as if shooting stars around his hand, “-faes,” many manifested into small humanoid figures. Once in the mood, the explanation boarded into stories and easy-to-understand concepts, by way of listening to the faes, Terisa’s jaw dropped. ”

“Faes!” she explained, an apparition of purple hue stood on her palm, “-I made one.”

“No, no,” he interjected, “-not made, it’s rude to her, she extended the hand of friendship. Talk to her as you would family, the more you learn, the stronger she will get – and the stronger she gets, the more protection you’ll have. It’s good to have allies, even if the allies aren’t blood-related family or friends. A fae will stay long as you believe in her,” a somber gray lined the sky, “-and faes,” the arms stretched, “-are friends to our world,” a beautiful display of sparks and trails dazzled her mind.

“Wow,” she blinked.

“Time to head home,” he said, “-don’t worry your parents.” Such were the days, weeks, and eventually months. Waking to a dead friend, stepping into a foreign land – expanding powers across the territory and learning the layout and history. Days before the blood moon, the village leader, in the company of an emissary from the celestial, stood in the village center beside a well and a kiosk. The timidly built houses arranged randomly – field workers and craftsmen stopped their jobs, the population of a few hundred bowed, none dared raise a glance at the celestial. Latter, clad in white and gold, shimmered under the increasingly somber weather.

“People of the village of Orn, I speak on behalf of the Sen Dynasty. The capital of Nordway is worried about a stranger who’s snuck onto our exalted eutopia. I carry with me,” he unrolled a scroll, “-a decree from the Celestials, and it reads, ‘-we have heard your plight, we’ve heard the intrusion of a stained beast amidst our ranks. No longer shall the suffering prolong, by the might of our blood, and under the blessing of Sen, God of Wildlife, we hereby pronounce the intruder an envoy of the devil. Evil incarnate, a macabre personage able to taint the mind of the youth. His teachings are not to be followed for they’re evil and pray upon the purity of the soul. Tim, chosen prodigy of Orn village, was badly injured and nearly killed. Justice will be served, innocent Tim will be avenged on a crimson night,’ thus the message,” said the envoy folding the scroll. The seeking dangerous regard scanned the bowed villagers. Sneer on the visage, a vortex summoned and vanished, the atmosphere lifted, loud breaths escaped.

“Osna,” cried an inhabitant, “-we told you not to let the children adventure near that grotto.”

“Little Tim’s wounded because of that sorcery,” the crowd beckoned for blood, the parents shed loud tears and grabbed each other.

“He’s better off dead,” said one.

“Let’s deal the justice before the celestial take the credit,” added another from a crowd of rogues – apparent from the dirtied clothes and inattention to the body odor. The cacophony crashed in waves, Osna barely held. Tiny feet scurried and leaped; “-Master isn’t evil!” screamed Terisa, “-he showed us how to use the faes and how to talk with them.”

“Isn’t she the devil spawn from that woman?” cried a lady amidst the screams.

“My mother isn’t a witch.”

*Smack,* Osna curtly back palmed the girl onto the floor, “-devil spawn, little rascal. You have no right to speak,” the hatred condensed around, older kids curled their fists, some grabbed stones, others reached for sticks.

“It’s your fault,” reddened eyes blasted through the crowd and grabbed the girl’s dirtied outfit, “-I should have stopped, he should have never met you,” her hand rose and snapped. The father rushed to stop the mother, “-stop,” he held her arms, “-she’s unconscious.”

“Osna, I said it before, throw her to the monsters of the night. She’s not welcomed here, her mother’s sickly, don’t think the witch can afford to please her celestial clients.”

“Take her away,” the gossip and abuse relentlessly flooded Terisa’s feeble mind.

“Father, let me take care of her,” interjected a youth, the son of the chief, Osna Jr, him and his group amassed stones and sticks. There laid ill-intent in his gaze, the other parents shrugged, “-fine, take her away.” The crowd dispersed – evening swam ashore, Terisa awoke on a bed inside a broken cabin, her outfit tore – the door barged open and Osna Jr’s lecherous mien stared her from top to bottom, the door locked and he slowly walked. Outside, the entourage of kids snickered and laughed – some peeped through the lock, others tiptoed over the window.

Her screams and fits rattled the very wall, Osna Jr ripped and tore, “-standstill,” he said and punched, “-let me have some fun like father,” he grinned.

“Let me GO!” she gritted, ‘-faes are friend, ask for help and they’ll come,’ she halted the struggle, the body relaxed, a bright light beamed from her chest, “-guardians of the forest, please help, I’m Terisa, student of the master.”

“What are you even saying?”

“FAIRIES!” bright lights dazzled the interior, fire spirits burnt her rope, earth elemental locked Osna Jr’s feet, wind spirits blasted through the door and send the perverted observant on their bottom. She sprinted through the night – hunters of the night rose by the call of hunger, “-master,” a sudden dash tore one of her legs clean, she fell and smacked her head. Swarm of monsters circled, a fight broke between hunters, flyers against runners, tension cackled under a thunderstorm. Smothered in mud and blood, Terisa, in her remaining seconds, said a prayer, ‘-to the true God, please, I want you to save my mother and my teacher.’ Blood lathered bushes and trail – the scent of blood by the cabin drew the night prowlers – demented humanoid outlines meandered.

Noise from weary villagers pushed the hunters, a blue flame deterred any predator, “-there they are,” said they with weapons, “-we found them by the cabin.’ No question’s asked, the troublemakers were hauled, “-Osna, look,” said one, “-Terisa’s unconscious without a leg.’

“Leave the devil’s spawn, she’ll serve well in death.” So it was, many knew what Osna wanted to do, and what he might have done, still, as it stood to be Terisa, none cared, nor dared to care. Pity was the few who saw the girl as a child, innocent and forced into an unjust fate. What could they do save spare a prayer in their hearts for her good faith in death? At the village, Osna took charge and led a few hunters to Terisa’s home, a shabby old house left to the elements by the river, it laid far and separated by a grove. In its prime, said home was considered to be peak of luxury – in the days when Terisa’s mother was well-loved and appreciated by her circle. By the poor blue flame, massive shadows cast into broken windows, withered garden, unsteady wooden beams, and the overall stench of decay and rot. How could one live in such environment, “-go in,” ordered Osna. Two hunters cautiously scaled the walkway to precarious steps on which laid the front door, a flash of the lanterns hailed, “-the door’s open.”

“Open?”

“Yeah.’

“Go in then,” shrugged Osna stood a fair distance away. The hunters gulped and carried inside. Floorboards creaked, they moved, the blueish orb guided each step, a table spawned in view – thunder crackled, lightning sparked the interior – toppled chair, recently used utensils, foraged fruits, and stale food on the table, each breath stung the lungs. Rain opened – the hauntingly slow drips fell all around, by will, they made for the bedroom, pushed the door to naught save a petite, well-kept room. The floor laid clean, the smell fragrance and the bed, recently used.

The hunters ran outside with hands over their head, “-she’s not here.”

“-and here I thought we could deliver the news. There’s no way she’ll live her state. Come along then,” they spun, “-good riddance,” echoed the following crowd.

Across the river and onto the dangerous trail, a lady ran at walking pace, her breathing gasped in chokes of red, the sleeping grown swallowed the rain and stuck to her naked body – frigid blasts forced her arms crossed. Complete darkness – lightning occasionally lit the area, a few struck nearby, the isle howled the tune of anarchy.

Her search ended, a grotto lit in the vague distance, she clambered into cover and turned for the inside, there, by aid of the rocks, forced her barefoot onto the sharp ground – pointy pebbles nicked her feet, yet, the soaked ‘witch’ carried herself to a house.

“Help,” she breathed, the voice barely reached, ‘-nausea,’ the expression widened into a hurl of red across the mushrooms, *click,* the door opened, “-who is it?” Nothing, a thud touched his ears, ‘-who is that?’ casually approached the near-death guest.

“Terisa,” a hand weakly grabbed his leg, “-help my daughter, y-y-you’re h-her t-teacher...”

“Help Terisa,” he knelt, held her arms, and stood, she difficultly followed, the soaked gown served no purpose in covering her body, she stood exposed, weakened, and on the verge of collapse, “-I beg of y-you. Help h-her...”

Blue lights bathed the distance wall, nonchalant steps approached “-we’ll kill him in his sleep and call it a day.”

“Or a night,” returned an unpleasant snort.