Moon Flowers (Book 1 of the Flower Trilogy) #Wattys2016 #Featured

CHAPTER ONE - HALIA (Edited)

HALIA'S POV

"Fairies can't get sick," the Tisannieres had told us. Yet I woke up that morning with overwhelming nausea.

What will the others think? Who's ever heard of a sick fairy?

Determined to get up and begin my chores, I swung my legs out of the shoe sole my godmother and I used as a bed, stumbling on one of the twigs that made up our nest. I bit my lip. Don't throw up.

I looked at my surroundings, at the all too familiar twigs that made up the walls and floor of our poorly furnished nest. My godmother, Aras, had already left, but not without putting a few bread crumbs on the upside down thimble by the bed. It wasn't much, but the long winter had greatly depleted our food supply. What we were in desperate need of were fruits and other fresh edibles.

Still, I was touched that Aras took the care of leaving food for me. It was the kind of gesture that reminded both of us that she was the mother figure, and I was the child.

Looking at the crumbs again, I wasn't sure I could stomach a bite. So instead, I combed through and braided my long, crimson-colored hair. It was a dull crimson color, however, damaged and dry because of the way we lived.

Long before my time, our king had encouraged us to settle in this dirty passageway, feeling it was best for our survival. Humans had decimated our villages countless times, razing off the forests and carving out the mountains in which we lived, to build their cities. Finally, fairies, along with other creatures—dwarfs, nymphs, fairies, goblins, even berstucs—had united under King Siegfried's leadership.

"The humans have destroyed all that is ours," the king had explained. "We won't risk moving again and again, suffering the same losses. We will stay. We will hide."

So we lived in an alley in a walled port city run by humans. I was born in this alley. My mother had died here. Without the humans' knowledge, of course. Fairies live in the shadow of humans. This is our curse.

*

Through the hole in the wall—the only way in and out of my nest, I saw the clouds. They were dark and heavy. A fine drizzle made the air humid and my hair more unruly than usual. An eternal fog covered the end of the alley, as it did every day, hiding our world from unwanted eyes.

I slipped on a cloak over my tunic, the fragile pieces of dried leaves and spider web, a surefire way to shield myself from the cold, and began my climb down. Three walls about twelve feet high surrounded me, dwarfing my already miniature size. I was relieved when my feet touched the ground.

The alley, normally filled with the unruly noisiness of the fairies' voices, was strangely quiet. It was as if every member of the fair folk had all shied away from the rain.

I squinted at the wall opposite to me, riddled with holes, windows to the other fairies' nests. In some of them, I could see the flames of a few will-o'-the-wisps, our only source of light.

They were all home, warm and dry, where Aras and I should have been.

I squinted into the mist to see if I could catch a glimpse of my godmother. My gaze stopped on the large overturned wooden crate, where we kept a bronze vessel that contained our water reserves. And there, through the slits of the crate, I recognized the silhouette of my godmother.

With hair as red as mine, wearing the same woven white tunic, and child-like in stature, she looked more like my sister than my godmother. And yet she was an Elder.

Aras was perched atop a pile of rocks, pouring raindrops from a nutshell into the bronze vessel using only her right hand. Her other hand, as always, hung inside a sling to avoid giving bad luck to anyone.

As a fairy godmother, she brought good luck when she presented her right hand, and bad luck with her left. If we were living in nature, the bad luck might just be a broken fairy wing, but here in the alley, bad luck could come in the form of death. Our weakness was palpable and the necessity of the sling made life more difficult for her when she did manual work. I could see this as she struggled to collect the raindrops.

I hurried to help her, and she welcomed me with a distracted smile. Grateful that the discomfort I felt did not show on my face, I returned her smile. Of all our chores, this was by far my favorite.

I was allowed to use magic.

Extending my arms, I stopped raindrops mid-air, without touching them. They floated, defying gravity, beautiful colors refracting to the wooden walls of the nearby shed, and I slowly directed them with my hands towards the gigantic bronze vessel.

It was by accident that I discovered my water powers. I had been crying in my bed one day, centuries ago, and before I knew it, my tears left my eyes and began to float around me. That was enough to stop me from crying. I don't even remember why I was so sad. All I know is that Aras came to sit by my side, caressed my hair, and then she told me.

"You are a nymph, a water creature," she had said. "Like your mother was."

My heart skipped a beat. I had always known I wasn't like the other fairies, but didn't know why. Knowing this—that one day I would be able to tap into my powers— gave meaning to my life.

"But remember," she continued. "You cannot use your powers in front of the others, especially the other Last-borns."

Why not?

"They won't understand why you have powers and they don't, and they might resent you for this."

My hopes had been crushed. Supremely unfair. Only Phi and Tönx, my best friends, knew of my powers, and they had promised not to tell.

That had been a long time ago, I thought now, catching a distorted image of myself in the water. Centuries later, and I still look like a seven-year-old child. A sick seven-year-old child.

I immediately felt guilty. Aras had been trapped in a child's body for much longer than I had. And, unlike me, who still had hope—did I really?—she would never grow older. She was my mother's sister, but would remain a child fairy.

Of course, I didn't know exactly how old I really was, though I often wondered. The other fairies never talked about their age. They might have forgotten it, or were trying to forget it. Thinking about all the summers and winters we had spent confined to the alley was too daunting a task. Too depressing.

"I think that's enough," Aras said, interrupting my line of thought. "We should have plenty of water for the next few days."

I lifted my head. Aras was frowning at the water when an intense pain cut through my insides, I cringed.

I could no longer ignore it. I was sick. The word scared me. From afar, I had often seen sick humans near our alley. Ghostly pale skin, dry lips, glassy eyes. The first signs of a condition that often worsened and took devastating and gruesome turns.

Will my flesh also fall off my face? Will my body be covered with pustules? Will I die?

I felt a tight pull of fear in my stomach. No, this wasn't the end. It was the beginning of something. But what?

"You don't seem well," Aras said. She put her hand on my shoulder.

I tried to smile. I did not want to worry her, but failed to be convincing. She grabbed me just in time. My knees weakened and the world went white.

Aras forced me to my feet. I leaned back on the wall. Its firm coldness gave me some relief. Slowly, my vision came back. I focused on the freckles that covered my godmother's nose and cheeks, and then on her grave look.

She probed my forehead. "You have a fever," she said, wide-eyed. "Go home and rest."

I nodded and obeyed. I felt her stare and worry follow me as I staggered back to our nest and clumsily climbed up the wall.

"I'll get the Tisannieres' help," Aras called through the thick fog.

Everything was a blur after that.