I blink rapidly, and it’s like clearing a hazy film from my sight.
From the trees, the shadows, the tall grass, creatures emerge all
around us.
My mother told me it’s rude to stare, but they are wonderful and
fearsome to look at. Real fairies from the Kingdom of Adas. Tall,
slender green pixies with shimmering wings and black, almond-shaped
eyes. Their fingers are long, like flower stems, ending in leaves
where nails should be. Snow-white women with skin like leather and
smooth, hairless heads wear crowns of thorns and pale roses. Dresses
made of thousands and thousands of dry flower petals that rustle in
the breeze like unearthly ghouls.
I want to keep looking at them when a voice startles me.
“What do we have here?” a smooth, silky voice, like the drizzle of
honey, asks.
I turn around, but there is no one there.
“Don’t be afraid,” he says.
When I turn back around, everyone is sitting down, like I missed
their movement in the blink of an eye.
Look twice , I remind myself.
At the head of the table, where the roots of the fallen tree
create a high, twisted chair, is a man. His chest is bare. His skin is
tan. There’s a tattoo of the sun over his heart. His face is stunning
in that symmetrical way, like his maker carved him from stone and
wouldn’t stop until it was perfect. But the truly startling part is
the curved horns that sprout from his temples and sweep into twisting
points around his head.
Gold, silver, and leather bracelets decorate his wrists, and
dozens of bauble rings adorn his fingers like knuckle-dusters. My dad
had a knuckle-duster from when he was younger. It’s in the bottom
drawer of my mom’s dresser wrapped in a yellowing handkerchief.
“You like my rings?” the horned man asks.
“I’m not much of a jewelry person,” I say, and instantly hate how
nervous I sound.
“Just the one,” he says, pointing at the moon around my neck.
“Are you hungry?” a girl asks. She’s got wild curls and
light-brown skin that is run through with green lines, like a birch
tree. She wears the same set of bracelets as the horned man. She
points to three empty seats. “Join us.”
“Thank you,” I say, “but we were just resting. We didn’t mean to
intrude.”
“Then keep on walking,” a girl mutters. Her skin is red as lava
with splotches of black. Her eyes are dark and too far apart, giving
her the look of a human salamander. When she huffs, smoke comes out of
her nostrils.
“Rodriga,” the horned man says. His voice is hard and cutting.
Everyone at the table jumps. “Is that the way we treat our guests?”
Everyone at the table looks down at their laps.
“Hey, now,” Nova says in his easy way. “No worries. We’ve still
got a lot of terrain to cover. We’re heading to Las Peñas to mine for
minerals. We’d best get a move on.”
“Do you know what happens to travelers who come here in search of
treasure?” Rodriga asks.
On the other side of the table, one of the pixies is letting Rishi
touch her iridescent wings.
“Enough,” the horned man says. “I am Agosto, Faun King of the
Meadow del Sol, and these are my kin. We live here safely away from
the wicked birds near the river and far away from the Bone Valle.”
I don’t like that he called the avianas wicked, but I stay quiet.
“I insist you join us,” Agosto says. “Regain your strength. You
look parched and ready to fall over.”
Nova and I look at each other. I don’t want to insult this horned
man. Behind the pleasantry, there’s steel in his voice. His knuckles
are thick with calluses that come from repeatedly beating on things.
Like my dad’s from his boxing days.
Nova holds my hand. He applies the tiniest pressure, but I know
he’s urging me to sit. Make nice. Avoid ruffling any more feathers, so
to speak. Then we can plan our escape.
“Okay,” I say. “But only for a bit.”
Agosto waves a hand across the air and a decadent banquet appears.
“Eat.”
23
Se fue, mi’jita, past the unseable door.
If I listen to the wind, I can still hear her laughter.
- Claribelle and the Kingdom of Adas: Tales Tall and True,
Gloriana Palacios
Dozens and dozens of plates appear across the table. The meadow
people raise their arms and cheer. A lonely cloud momentarily passes
over the sun, leaving us in shadow. My vision flickers for a moment;
then the cloud passes by, and we’re basked in white fairy light again.
Nova and Rishi take the empty seats between two winged adas. The
only seat left open is the one to the right of Agosto. He motions to
the empty toadstool with his ornately decorated hand.
“I’m sure your journey has been exhausting,” he tells me. “The
path to the mountain is not an easy one.”
I nod. Words. Where are my words? Looking at Agosto is unlike
anything I’ve ever experienced. He is perfect in his beauty and
strangeness. He’s a wild, horned forest king and an angel all at once.
“I hope you find rest here,” he says.
The Meadowkin don’t need to be told twice to eat. They dig in to
heaping piles of plump, purple fruits and down sweet mead. White,
fluffy cakes drizzled with honey and sprinkled with fat, sparkling
sugar crystals. Roasted meat sizzles, surrounded by tender root
vegetables the color of blood and bone.
“Are you serious?” Rishi shouts from the other end of the table. A
stack of fluffy roti appears in front of her. She rips it up and dips
it into a cast iron pot of dal. “It tastes just like my mom makes it.”
Agosto leans back in his twisted throne, an ornate wooden goblet
in his hand. His full lips curl up, showing he’s pleased. “We have
everything you could ever dream of having.”
“That right?” Nova leans over the table. I’m afraid he’s going to
say something offensive or rude. Instead he says, “Then I dream of a
fat ass steak.”
“I’m so glad you said ‘steak,’” Rishi says with her mouth full.
And sure enough, a sizzling hunk of prime rib appears in front of
him complete with disco fries.
A frail man with the head of a mouse leans over Nova’s plate. In
his thin voice, he says, “Ooh! Looks good. Is that what you eat where
you’re from?”
“Nah, I usually eat whatever’s on the dollar menu.”
The mouse man grins and stuffs his mouth with cake. His wrists are
too small for some of his bracelets, and when one of them slips, I
notice black-and-red wounds ring his wrists.
“Something the matter?” Agosto asks me.
I shake my head, trying to mask my worry when Rishi gets up from
her seat and comes over to my side. She curtsies to Agosto, then sits
with me. We barely fit on the same stool but that doesn’t stop her
from trying.
“I want you to try this,” she tells me, holding a slice of fruit
shaped like a perfect star. “These are my favorite in all the worlds.”
I take the sticky star in my hand. It’s perfectly green with a
single seed wedged in the center. When I take a bite, juice rolls down
my chin, and then we’re in a fit of giggles at our messiness. I wipe
my lips with the back of my hand.
This place is a dream , a voice whispers. This place isn’t real.
But I want it to be real. I want to feel this happy always. I want
to be in the light.
“I’m glad I’m here with you,” Rishi tells me.
This place brings out the warm brown in her skin, her shining
eyes. Rishi has impossibly long, black lashes and perfect eyebrows
I’ve not so secretly coveted.
“I wanted to tell you something else,” she says, “but it’s the