Lessoc Fountain - a fairy-creature tale

Ch. 6 The Fountain's Tale

Coquelicot climbed the root staircase into the woods and then dashed along the path, her heavy shoes thumped at each impact. It was all she heard, besides her ragged breathing.

Clomp, clomp, clomp.

She arrived in the nick of time at the forest's edge above the farm. The old man was shouting some last minute instructions at the boy, who led a donkey hitched to a small cart to the road.

It took her a minute to catch her breath, but then she followed him. She hid in the forest and behind bushes, imagining and practicing what she would say to him.

The boy continued on the main road towards the village. Towards Lessoc. She paced among the trees. Every time she had come with her mother, they had walked in the fields around the village, and not once through it.

"Never drink the water from the fountain, especially the basin, Coquelicot," her mother had whispered whenever they came close on their way to Bulle.

"Why not?" she had asked each time.

"No reason. The water is perfectly fine, I fixed it many, many years ago. Still, it's better if you don't drink from it."

"How did you fix the fountain, Mother?"

"How does anyone fix anything, sweetheart? With love."

Although, sometimes instead of 'love' she said 'magic.'

From behind an oak, Cocot watched the boy go into a village house to make a delivery. While she waited, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck suddenly prickled. A cool breeze lifted, stirring the leaves and stickle bushes around her and a chill ran down her spine.

The wind. That was all. But she hunched her shoulders with apprehension. It was not the wind, or the nearness of the village with its perfectly fine fountain that made her uneasy. She was sure she was being watched.

Pretending to stretch and change positions, she glanced about, trying to spy the source of this feeling in the crowded underbrush and thick shadows of the forest.

There—behind and to the left, a heavier shadow was hiding in a knot of ash saplings. Whoever it was expelled a breath in a soft huff, and stomped with a hollow thud. The horse from the field, maybe.

Cocot was on the verge of creeping closer to see if it was in fact the animal when laughter from the village caught her ears. Children chased each other in between the houses and through the streets.

A shout and more laughter drew her out of the forest. Feet heavy, heavier than her thick shoes, she crept closer. When she arrived on the main street in between the first houses (there weren't that many), she was surprised to find it empty. The children were gone and there was no sign of the boy or his cart, either. She kicked at the packed earth and gravel, shuffling her feet. Making her way slowly up the street, she rounded a house and saw the fountain.

The fountain of Lessoc rose up in the middle of the open square like the rounded top of a church steeple. Cocot had never seen a fountain with a roof over it before. She took a step closer, one hand still on the last house, her fingers reluctant to lose their contact with the cool blocks of stone. Gathering her courage, she took another step into the square. She was thin and fragile as a down feather, tied to the ground by the weight of her shoes, and she inched forward, ready to run for safety.

The fountain seemed harmless enough. Flowers decked the round stone wall, and crowned the spouts in the middle. But something could by lying in wait, hidden, deep in the basin itself.

She edged up to the fountain's side, held her breath and peered into the water. The inside of the basin was filled with clear water, clean apart from bits of paper trash and flower petals floating on the surface.