The Truth About Fairies Read online

  Well, he could hardly be angry with the tinker, could he? His dinner would have gone to waste anyway. And he had asked the man to placate his wife by distracting her with a fine display of his many bolts of cloth.

  ‘So I suppose you can be on your way again now, tinker,’ Chros added with a firm smile as he took a chair at the table.

  ‘Chros!’

  Timinamma was appalled by her husband’s rude behaviour.

  ‘We can hardly send the poor man out in a storm like this!’

  With a slight nod of her head towards the window, she indicated the raging storm outside. It was now almost as dark as night out there. Timinamma had had to light a candle to bring some light into the rapidly darkening kitchen.

  ‘Besides,’ she added nonchalantly, ‘I’d already told him to bring his horse and cart into the stable: while you were out finishing work you should have prepared for ages ago!’

  This last line was delivered with a sternness that brooked no disagreement. Besides, Chros didn’t want to do anything that would spoil the good mood he had found his wife in when he had first entered the kitchen.

  ‘And I mean to pay for my night’s lodgings–’

  ‘Night’s lodgings?’

  Chros’s reward for interrupting Tinker was an angry glower from Timinamma.

  The tinker continued to speak as if he hadn’t heard Chros anyway.

  – ‘with a gift like no other you have ever seen or are ever likely to see!’

  As he spoke, Tinker rose from his chair and picked up the pail containing water drawn from the well earlier that day.

  ‘That water is supposed to last…’

  Chros’s protest wilted under another angry glare from Timinamma.

  ‘Hah, don’t worry,’ Tinker reassured them both as he placed the water-filled pail by the window. ‘I’m only using the water; none will be wasted.’

  The light from a full moon shone like a silver covering on top of the water.

  Which was very odd, because although it was now incredibly dark outside, it was far from being night-time. Moreover, neither Timinamma nor Chros had ever known the moon shine in through the window like this.

  It wasn’t even the time of month for a full moon.

  Still, it was a particularly beautiful sight. The pail looked as if it could contain liquid silver rather than clear water.

  Carefully placing his fingers on the surface of the silvered water, Tinker made it ripple slightly, as if it were made of the purest, finest silk. Then, with a deft flick of those same fingers, Tinker withdrew the silvered surface as if it were indeed a piece of the finest cloth.

  Pulling it completely clear of the water, he shook the cloth – and it immediately opened up into a piece of cloth twice its original size. He shook it again, drying it in an instant – and again, it doubled in size.

  With a third flick of his wrists, the cloth had become a silken, silvery-white dress. When he handed the gorgeously elegant dress to Timinamma, her breathing was rushed, excited; for it was undoubtedly the most wondrous garment she had ever seen or even dreamed of.

  ‘Moonsilk: there’s nothing purer,’ Tinker said with a satisfied smile. ‘Has anyone ever told you of the history of moonsilk?’

  *

  Chapter 4

  The Box of All Our Fears

  Some kingdoms are remarkably poor, their kings living hardly better than a peasant in a richer kingdom.

  Obviously, the kings of such lands believe that this state of affairs is most unfair. They continually berate the gods for the unwarranted impoverishment and mean lifestyles of both themselves and their subjects.

  One such king complained so much that at last he was sent help in the form of a fairy. She would create for the complaining king bolt after bolt of moonsilk until she had filled an entire warehouse. Then, by selling this most gorgeous and unique of materials, the king would almost instantly become extremely wealthy.

  Soon, every princess and queen in all the neighbouring kingdoms had to have dresses made of moonsilk, bedsheets of moonsilk, scarves of moonsilk. Nothing else would do. Nothing else was so silkenly soft, so deliciously wonderful to look at. Even their husbands began to insist on moonsilk undergarments for their armour.

  Riches poured into the king’s coffers. He built the most impressive palaces for hundreds of miles around. He decked out all his soldiers, no matter their lowly rank, in moonsilk.

  Even so, this king remained unsatisfied.

  A king, he irately berated himself time and time again, shouldn’t gain his wealth and fame through the means and methods of a mere tradesman!

  Ultimately, such behaviour was humiliating for a king.

  A king should achieve fame through the power of his armies, through conquest, and the acquisition of land.

  He could now afford to build up his army, of course. Yet it would take too long to train them in the arts of war: no matter the size of his force, it would always flee the far more experienced men making up his opponents’ armies. He could afford to employ mercenaries, but these could never be trusted: he had heard many tales of mercenaries turning on their paymasters, taking over the kingdom they’d been paid to serve.

  He needed a secret weapon, he decided. And who better to provide him with an unbeatable device than the fairy who had been set to work for him, filling his warehouse with bolt after bolt of moonsilk?

  Now, the fairy was already extremely unhappy with the king. She had produced more than enough moonsilk to fill the warehouse a great many times. Despite this, the king always insisted she hadn’t fulfilled her task as he was managing to sell it almost as fast as she made it. To be given this extra task by the king – and one involving the creation of a weapon that would help him wage wars on other humans too! – was a step too far for her.

  She refused to create the weapon of his demands. She also added that, as she expected to have at last filled the warehouse by the end of the week, she would be leaving as soon as her original obligation had been fulfilled.

  Of course, the king couldn’t let this happen. The fairy was far too valuable to him.

  And so, apologising for his request, and promising her that she could leave almost immediately if she so wished, he asked of her instead just one small favour; would she be so kind as to pass her judgement on the fine lace his best lacemakers had made using the moonsilk?

  Naturally, the fairy was both flattered and intrigued by this request. She would indeed like to see what lace made of moonsilk would look like. And, of course, she believed herself to be an expert in the best use of moonsilk.

  The lace had been hung in fine sheets throughout the lacemakers’ rooms, he told her, where they mingled with the great sheets that had been made through normal means. All the fairy had to do, the king explained, was fly amongst these many sheets, ranking each delicate piece of work on its quality.

  The fairy flew amongst this glorious maze of hanging lace sheets, impressed by the beauty of the lace even though, as yet, she hadn’t come across any made of moonsilk. She frowned in disappointment, however, when she arrived at sheets that appeared to be of much poorer quality, for the lacemaker had attempted to use threads of the finest silver.

  She flew alongside this lacework of silver thread, seeking its end so she could fly around it and inspect the next piece of lace. Rather than seeming to end, however, the lace began to sharply curve towards her. In fact, the farther she flew on, the more it curved around her.

  The great sheets of lace hanging about her suddenly all fell to the floor: all, that is, apart from the lacework of finely meshed silver. This remained, encircling her like a cage; for as she had flown amongst the maze of veils the lacemakers had quietly and carefully drawn its ends together, swiftly and deftly sealing any joins or holes with extra thread.

  In a panic, the fairy soared upwards, seeking to fly over the silver lace: only to find that it all hung from a specially constructed canopy that allowed no space for her to escape. Similarly, when she flew down towards th
e mesh’s base, she found it was tightly nestled within a metal track.

  She was trapped.

  She wasn’t leaving the king’s service after all.

  *

  Of course, as she was trapped within the finely meshed silver cage, as if she were some exotic aviary bird, the fairy could no longer continue to produce the moonsilk.

  The king, however, was no longer concerned with the production and sale of moonslik. Under threat of starvation, the fairy had at last agreed to provide him the unbeatable weapon he craved.

  It was an immense, octagonal lantern. Drawn everywhere on a cart, it produced not light but darkness. By means of the reflectors placed on four sides of this lantern, the darkness could be projected onto any enemy.

  The darkness was complete. No other light could penetrate it. No other light could be lit within it. Any flame that was already burning abruptly seemed to be nothing more than flickering red leaves.

  Whole enemy fleets had been demolished within a single hour of intense darkness. Armies had simply fled after suffering a hail of arrows or bombardment of boulders from an opponent they were unable to see.

  At last, the king could take pride in his relentless gathering of riches and other kingdoms. Moonsilk had gained him nothing but a reputation as a lauded draper; his bringing of a fearful darkness, however, ensured that he himself was also feared.

  Yet the king was still not satisfied. For even though he now brought so much fear to others, he realised that – ironically – not even he could ever be free of fear.

  In his building of his vast empire, he had made many enemies. Not just the defeated kings and their now impoverished subjects, but also envious and equally fearful allies. Even his closest friends could no longer be trusted, for his enemies were prepared to offer them vast sums of money, great tracts of land, if they would only slip poison into his food, or a knife into his back.

  He even exiled his two once-beautiful daughters, fearing that if he allowed them to get too close, they too could see it as an opportunity to take over his empire.

  The fairy was well aware of this fear of the king’s. For she was wise enough to know that everyone fears something. And a great many ultimately fear the very same thing.

  ‘I can take your fear,’ she promised the king, ‘and entrap it in a box. As long as the box remains closed, you will have control over your fear.’

  The king considered this offer. Of course, the fairy’s price was her freedom. But even once she had gone, he would still have the Lantern of Darkness, his vast empire, his unimaginable wealth.

  He agreed. He had had everything else he would be able to obtain from the fairy after all, as she had said she would rather starve than grant him any more favours.

  She presented him with a cylindrical box, its surface covered in sharp razor shells that cut the fingers at the slightest touch. Unless the lid was held down tightly however – and there was nothing wrong with protecting the hands with gloves or wads of material – it would jump open as sharply as if it were spring loaded, such was the determination of whatever was trapped inside to get out.

  Of course, the king realised he couldn’t trust such an important box to anyone else. It would always have to be where only he could lay his hands on it.

  He placed a heavy weight on the box lid; but the curvature of the box ensured the weight simply slipped off.

  He tied it closed with rope; but the razor shells soon cut through every thread.

  He thought of burying it; but knew for sure that someone would uncover it, either by accident or design.

  The only way he could be certain that the box remained closed was to tightly hold onto it, though he naturally had the good sense to have gloves specially made for this purpose alone.

  He never let the box out of his sight. Never let it out of at least one of his hands.

  It was a small price to pay when it ensured the thing he feared most could never escape.

  It was only when he was finally on his deathbed that he could no longer maintain the tight grasp required to keep the box closed. As it slipped from his hand, the box sprung open.

  He glanced inside the box, to see what it was the fairy had entrapped there.

  This thing that he feared so much. That most people ultimately fear.

  The box was empty.

  The dying king didn’t understand.

  Had he wasted all his life holding an empty box?

  Had it all been for nothing?

  And somewhere far off, sensing the passing of the foolish king, a fairy mischievously chuckled.

  She hadn’t lied to him, after all.

  For what does a man fear most but wasting his life?

  *

  Chapter 5

  ‘This magic you showed us – can it be used in other ways?’

  Chros refilled Tinker’s pot of ale as they sat talking at the table.

  ‘Magic?’ Tinker sounded almost affronted, and at least shocked. ‘It’s not magic! It’s purely natural science, I assure you!’

  Unseen by Chros, he and Timinamma exchanged knowing smiles.

  ‘Hhmn, shame, shame,’ Chros mumbled miserably into his own pot of ale.

  ‘A shame? Why do you say that, Chros?’

  Of course, Chros couldn’t remember when he had told Tinker his name, but he naturally thought nothing of it.

  ‘Hah, it’s just that, well…if only it wasn’t for the barrenness of–’

  ‘Barren?’ Timinamma was aghast that he’d used such a word, and in front of a stranger too. ‘I think it’s more likely the quality of the seed that’s at fault!’ she snapped irritably.

  ‘It’s the best around!’ Chros insisted equally irately. ‘The problem’s obviously where I’m planting it, if you–’

  ‘Chros!’ Timinamma was amazed, furious.

  ‘I see, I see!’ Tinker said urgently, hoping to prevent their argument from developing any further. ‘But your wife has already had her wish from the fairy, so I–’

  ‘Wish?’ Chros stared at his wife accusingly. ‘Fairy?’

  ‘Oh, Chros, isn’t it wonderful? I can’t keep it a secret any longer!’

  Instantly remembering that her fairy wish had ensured all their problems would soon be over, Timinamma’s mood had suddenly changed to one of blissful happiness once again. She almost danced across the room, gleefully sitting down in her husband’s lap as she used to when they first married.

  ‘And you know what I wished for,’ she trilled excitedly, placing a hand upon her stomach as if expecting her wish to have already produced noticeable results. ‘I wished that, at last, we’d have what we’ve always wished for!’

  Over her shoulder, out of the corner of her eye, she saw anxiety flash in Tinker’s eyes; but she hoped she’d imagined it, hoped it was nothing but a trick of the light.

  Yes, she knew, of course, that you should never reveal what you have wished for – yet what possible harm could there be in what she had just said? She hadn’t made her wish plain in any way at all, had she?

  Chros’s eyes, by contrast to Tinker’s, lit up with joy.

  ‘You did! Oh wife, wife – that’s just so, so amazing!’

  He hugged her tightly, quickly kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘But I can’t wait to see it growing!’ he declared, rising from his chair so exuberantly that Timinamma would have been sent flying to the floor if she hadn’t happily danced out of the way.

  ‘When do we get to see the results?’ Chros elatedly asked Tinker as he rushed towards the window. ‘When does it all start happening?’

  As he stared out of the window, he cried out in wonder.

  ‘Now! It’s happening now!’

  ‘What?’ Confused, Timinamma patted her stomach, unsure what Chros could mean. ‘I’m sure it can’t work that quickly, Chros!’

  But Chros wasn’t listening. Whirling back excitedly from the window, he’d dashed towards the door and flung it open. He rushed out uncaringly into the raging wind and rain.
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  Tinker shook his head sadly, his eyes now brimming with apology.

  Timinamma peered out of the window – and gasped in surprise and horror.

  The corn in their fields was growing at least as high as a house.

  *

  ‘What happened?’

  Timinamma was distraught and bewildered.

  Out in the rain, however, out in the eerie moonlight, Chros was ecstatic: he was rushing past the towering leaves of giant carrots, running in-between cart-sized cabbages.

  The poor animals left out in their fields couldn’t believe what they were seeing, perhaps wondering if they themselves had been magically shrunk – if they were indeed capable of thinking that way. But of course, they were fully aware that none of these crops should have been growing at this time of year anyway.

  ‘That’s not what I wished for!’ Timinamma declared vehemently.

  ‘You and Chros, you spoke of similar things, yet wanted something different.’

  Tinker placed a consoling hand on Timinamma’s shoulder as she continued to watch her husband make a fool of himself out in the wind and rain.

  ‘A wish, when it uses so few words, is never as plainly stated as we would wish. It’s always open to false interpretation: and involving your husband’s own particular hopes by partially divulging you own simply added to that potential confusion.’

  ‘We didn’t need giant crops!’ Timinamma miserably cried, her tears now falling like mistletoe berries in the moonlight. ‘We needed a child!’

  Tinker tenderly took hold of Timinamma’s worn yet still elegant hands. She turned to face him, her face still beautiful in its own unique way.

  For once, Tinker spoke hesitantly, as if he might be suggesting something potentially dangerous.

  ‘You know, there is another way to get your wish.’

  *

  Chapter 6

  While her husband soundly slept that night – dreaming of blackberries he could dive into, wallowing in their spilt juices; of grapes burgeoning into great moon-sized orbs that, when slit, gushed waterfalls of the sweetest wine – Timinamma dressed in her garment of moonsilk.

  Then she strode out into the nearby woods, as Tinker had instructed her to do.