Dreams and Shadows

chapter EIGHTEEN

THE BOY COLBY ARRIVES

Colby Stevens and his friend Yashar had walked untold miles to get to where they were now, the city several weeks behind them. And while occasionally tedious, with hardly anything of interest in sight, the promise of what was just within their reach excited Colby more with each passing step. Yashar had been true to his word: he had at the ready unending supplies of sunblock, refreshments, and delicacies of all kind. Were they not walking almost every moment of the day, it would have been a vacation. But they were walking.

They found themselves trekking through an abandoned stretch of state highway—a more than generous description given its patches of broken asphalt, its fading white dashes, and the overgrown brush along both sides that thickened straightaway into a dense tree line. It was the very definition of middle-of-nowhere Texas, a relatively uninhabited area of the world full of beauty, wildlife, and a complete lack of recognizable civilization. The road was driven enough to be clear of branches and debris, but not so often that they saw a passing car more than once or twice an hour.

“Mommy says my daddy is a fairy,” said Colby, from out of the blue.

“What?” asked a blindsided Yashar.

“My mommy says Daddy’s a fairy. It’s why he goes on so many business trips without her.”

Yashar nodded. “I don’t think that’s what she meant.” He laughed a little.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean . . .” Sigh. “She probably meant . . . because he flies around. Like a fairy.”

“Oh.” Colby paused, mulling over that little piece of information. “So fairies fly?”

“Some do.”

“Not all of them?”

“No. Pixies and will-o’-the-wisps fly all the time. Some creatures float. But most walk around like us.”

“But then why would Mommy think that Daddy flies like a fairy?”

“Because people have forgotten more about fairies than they actually remember. They think of them as cute, fun little creatures like Tinkerbell; they’ve forgotten all the bad things they can do, the evil that some of them are capable of.”

“Evil? You mean bad things? But I thought we were going to see fairies. Fairies don’t do bad things.”

“Oh, I’m afraid they can and do. That’s what I’m telling you. Not all fairies are good creatures; they will do you harm quicker than you can say their name. Some will lead you astray in the night, while others will swallow you whole and spit out your bones. They are masters of disguise, whether concealed in the wood or dressed as a hapless beggar. You might have met dozens of them over your life and never known it. Beautiful women, handsome men, unwashed bikers, and stray dogs: I’ve seen fairies assume all shapes and sizes to get what they want.”

“So they’re bad?” asked Colby, now a little scared.

“Not all of them. Only the unseelie ones.” Yashar leaned in a bit while maintaining his pace. “Unseelie means ‘bad fairies.’ ” Then he smiled. “Some, on the other hand, want nothing more than to do good in this world—to shower you with attention and gifts of food or love or hard work. They are sometimes pleasant little creatures of daylight and daffodils, brimming with goodwill, wishes, and a desire to leave the world a little more magical than they found it. We call those seelie.”

“How can you tell the difference?”

“You just have to know the difference. Fairies are like people, they each have a job, a purpose in life, and after a while you just figure out which are which. Some you can tell right away. Others are much sneakier.”

“Oh. Do you know the difference?” asked Colby.

Yashar smiled reassuringly. “I do.”

“How?”

“Years of practice.”

“So you’ll teach me how to tell the difference?”

“I will,” said Yashar.

“How are we gonna find them?”

Yashar pointed along the side of the road. “You see these trees and the growth surrounding them?”

Colby nodded.

“Well, if you keep your eyes sharp, you’ll notice every so often a small break in the woods upon which not a living thing grows on the ground. Those paths are walled in on both sides by lilies and lilacs, bluebonnets and sunflowers. They start and they stop, with no rhyme or reason, as if someone began walking on them from out of nowhere then disappeared back into the nowhere. Those are called fairy paths, and they are roads that will take you to the fairies. There is a magic to them, and when you learn to read the ambient magic in the world, you will learn to feel and hear them as well as they can be seen. A fairy path is the first sign that they are near; small dips in the universe that bridge our world to theirs.”

“They live on another planet?”

“No. They live on ours. But they live in a place normal people can’t see, in the nooks and crannies of the mind, in the places most people wouldn’t think to look.”

“But you know where to look, right?”

Yashar nodded. “And so do you.”

“I do?” asked Colby.

“I gave you the sight to see them and the instinct to know where to look. You’ll see what I mean soon enough. I can hear the tinkling of such a trail close by.”

Colby exploded like a popcorn kernel in a hot oiled pan. “We’re almost there?”

“We are,” said Yashar.

“We’re gonna see fairies?!”

“We are.”

“How much longer?”

“Moments.”

“IcantwaitIcantwaitIcantwait.”

“You can wait.”

“I can’t wait.”

“You’re going to have to. We still have a small bit of walking to do. But I can feel them close.”

“How do you feel them?”

Yashar stopped, turned to Colby, and then took a knee. He put both hands on Colby’s shoulders. “Calm down for a second.”

“I’ll try.”

“Take a deep breath.” Colby breathed in an overexaggerated breath of air, exhaling loudly. “Now again.” Colby breathed in again. “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?” asked Colby, a little unsure of what he was looking for.

“That tickle. Over to your left.”

Colby thought deeply, his mind wandering over every muscle in the left side of his body. He shook his head. “No.”

“It feels like a little tug, as if a string is pulling a small part of you in another direction.”

Colby calmly thought, his eyes growing wide. “YES! It feels like . . . like . . .”

“Something is over there behind the trees, right?”

“YES!”

“That’s your senses telling us something is near. Your mind has been awakened to the world most people don’t know exist. Soon you’ll be able to distinguish between the tickle of something and the tickle of something specific.”

“Like what?”

“Like the difference between someone you know and something you don’t.”

“Do you know what we’re feeling right now?” asked Colby.

“What you’re feeling is a fairy path. But when we follow that path, we’ll find some fairies.”

“Cool!”

“Yes, very.”

The two turned back to the road, Colby exuberant, a whirling tempest of warm sunshine. Soon they took the last few steps toward the path, the tugging leading them off the pavement, into the brush, the highway disappearing into the thick foliage behind them.

The path felt alive, an electric trail of tingling sensations, rippling like waves lapping against the shore. Sweet aromas hung in the air—milkweed mixed with lavender—teasing Colby’s nostrils as he made his way deeper and deeper into the trees. The tree line became a forest, its canopy brooding darkly above them, dimming the harsh sun into a soft, warm glow.

The path continued deep into the wood, winding erratically, as if it had been carved out by drunken pixies chasing a confused cat. It wove through small grottos, past fields filled with tall grass and thick knobby trees. Colby bounded from patch to patch, always ahead of Yashar, his eyes glued to the ground around his feet. He could have walked within fifty feet of an elephant to one side and missed it entirely, but not missed a nickel halfway covered in dirt if it was anywhere on the path.

He had no idea what lay around each corner or bend—whether it be a pixie or a nixie, a spriggan or a sprite. Yashar had mentioned them all, and while the tales often went in one ear and out the other, fragments of them remained; there were a lot of things he expected to see around each turn and tree, but the last thing he anticipated coming across was a little boy no older than he. But that was exactly what he found.

It was two in the afternoon on a rather warm and delightful Tuesday—nestled perfectly in the bosom of spring—that the boy Colby and the boy Ewan first set eyes on each other. There was no preamble to their meeting, no warning or alarm. Both boys darted around a tree, stopping dead in their tracks, their eyes locking immediately.

“You can’t see me,” Ewan stated.

“Yes I can,” replied Colby, very much able to see the boy standing right in front of him.

“No you can’t. I’m invisible.”

Colby shook his head. “Not to me, you’re not.”

“Oh yes I am. I’m a fairy and you’re just a boy. You’re not supposed to see me.”

“You’re no fairy,” said Colby.

“I’m mostly fairy,” said Ewan. “That’s all that matters.”

“What’s a Mostly Fairy?” asked Colby.

“It means I’m almost a fairy, so I’m still partly boy.”

“Well, I’m all boy.”

“I know,” said Ewan.

“How do you know that?”

“Because Dithers taught me the difference between all the fairies and you don’t look like any of them. You just look like a boy.”

“What’s a Dithers?”

“He’s the fairy that takes care of me.”

“Wow! You have a fairy?!”

“Yeah. He feeds me and takes me out to hunt and stuff.”

“I have a djinn,” said Colby proudly.

“What’s a djinn?” asked Ewan.

“You know,” said Colby, “the smokey guys from lamps. They grant wishes.” Ewan shook his head, sure that this boy was now making things up. “Haven’t you ever heard of Aladdin?”

Again Ewan shook his head. “No.”

“Or Ali Baba and the forty thieves?”

“No.”

“Don’t you know anything?”

“YES!” said Ewan, putting his hands firmly on his hips. “I know lots of stuff!”

“Like what?”

“Like where the pixies live, and what a Buber is and where to find Bill the Shadow and why you should never dance with a fairy when they ask you to.”

“But you’ve never seen Aladdin?” asked Colby.

“No.”

“Well, you don’t know anything then.”

Both grimaced for a moment. “I’m Ewan,” said one boy to the other.

Colby extended a hand. “My name’s Colby.” Ewan stared him down, distrusting the outstretched arm. “Don’t you know how to shake hands?”

“No.”

Colby stamped his foot, exaggeratedly throwing out his arms. “Gah! You don’t know anything!”

“What do we have here?” called Yashar from behind Colby. Colby turned to look at Yashar, shaking his head.

“I found a boy who doesn’t know anything.”

Yashar sauntered up the path. “Did you now?” At first he wasn’t sure what to make of Ewan. Thin, dirty, relatively unkempt, the boy appeared to be entirely feral. But as he peered closer, he could see the hints of glamour flickering off him, shimmering, sparkling beneath the surface. This boy lived among the fairies and was probably a stolen child adopted by some lovesick mother. Protective though they were of their charges, Yashar could find no reason the two boys couldn’t talk—especially since the young Ewan was most likely a member of the very court they were visiting.

“His name is Ewan and he’s never seen Aladdin,” explained Colby.

“And how would he, living out here in fairy country?”

“Well . . .”

“Well, what? I’m sure there are a number of things this young man can tell us. Can’t you?”

Ewan nodded. “I think so.”

“For example, I’m sure you could tell us if Meinrad is still the king of the Limestone Court.”

“He is!” Ewan spat out excitedly.

“And I’m sure you also could tell us how far we are from the center of camp.”

Ewan turned around and pointed. “Back that way and over three hills!”

“And who is your mommy?”

“I don’t have a mommy,” said Ewan. “I have a Bendith.”

“A Bendith Y Mamau?” asked Yashar, intrigued.

“Uh-huh! His name is Dithers and I love him a lot.”

“I’m sure you do,” said Yashar, nodding. “And where is Dithers?”

“He’s back at our camp. He has to plan a funeral for some of his friends.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, he hasn’t said anything, but his best friends got killed last night and I think he’s sad. He seems very worried.”

The death of a fairy was a rare occurrence; the death of many was no accident. “How did they die?” asked Yashar.

“They got caught by the Wild Hunt,” said Ewan.

“Are you sure?”

Ewan nodded sadly. “Yeah, I saw it.”

Yashar allowed only a hint of surprise to show. “You saw the Wild Hunt?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s a Wild Hunt?” asked Colby.

“Don’t you know anything?” snarked Ewan.

“At least I’ve seen Aladdin!”

“All right, stop it, you two,” interrupted Yashar. “Who was the huntmaster? Do you know?”

“Some lady. I don’t know who she was.”

“Well, why don’t you take us back to meet your Bendith?”

“Okay!” Ewan turned, running excitedly back toward camp. “Come on!” he called back with a wave.

Colby turned to Yashar. “What’s a Bendith?”

“A child thief.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” said Yashar.

“So they stole that little boy and are turning him into a fairy?”

“Yes. Colby, listen to me very carefully. Remember what I told you about fairy food?”

Colby repeated the instructions in a monotone voice, as if he’d been forced to say them a hundred times. “Don’t eat or drink anything a fairy offers you, no matter how good it looks, or you’ll be stuck with the fairies forever.”

“That’s right. And you mustn’t forget that you’re walking into fairy time; things will not all happen as they seem. Time does not adhere to fairies the same way it does to you or me; it slips and slides off them like a duck shedding water. Sometimes fairy time is slow time; a day in fairy time is a week in our world. But a week could also be nothing more than a day. Such is the riddle of glamour. Remember that. Now, go catch up with your friend. I’ll be right behind you.”

Colby smiled, pretending to understand more than a single word he’d just heard, and ran off to catch up with Ewan.

“I still don’t think you should be able to see me,” said Ewan, disappointed. “I’ve been working real hard at not being seen.”

Colby nodded. “Well, I’m special. I made a wish.”

“A wish for what?”

“A wish to be able to see things I normally wouldn’t see, like fairies, angels, and stuff.”

“That’s not fair!” said Ewan.

“What do you mean that’s not fair?” asked Colby.

“Some of us try real hard to be invisible. But you just get to see us.”

“Yeah, but that’s all I can do. I can’t turn invisible or anything.”

“Oh.” Ewan pondered that for a moment. “Well, that might be fair.”

“What else can you do?”

“Nothing yet, but I’ll be able to do other stuff one day.”

“So you’re gonna be a fairy?”

“Yeah, after my becoming.”

“What’s a becoming?” asked Colby.

“It’s a special day where I stop being a boy and start being a fairy all the time.”

“Oh, I want a becoming too! How can I be a fairy?”

“It’s real hard. You have to spend years learning and drinking lots and lots of fairy milk.”

“Oh,” said Colby. “I’m not supposed to eat or drink anything the fairies give me. You can’t ever leave if you do.”

“Why would you want to leave?” asked Ewan.

“What do you mean?”

“Why would you want to leave? There’s nothing out there but people and they’re just cattle.”

“There’s more than people,” said Colby.

“What else is there?”

“Well, there are lots of things. Yashar has told me about angels and ghosts and monsters and wizards and . . . um . . . there is other stuff, I think. Do you have TV out here?”

“What’s TV?” asked Ewan.

“You don’t have TV? Do you have video games?”

“No, what’s that?”

“Oh, well, we have TV and video games too. That’s a pretty good reason to want to leave. It’s pretty neat. It’s a box that they tell stories on, and a video game is where you get to control the story and jump over things and shoot stuff and stuff.”

“Shoot?”

“You know, with a gun?” asked Colby. He made a pair of fist pistols and pretended to open fire at Ewan. “Bang, bang,” he shouted, but Ewan, completely unfamiliar with the concept, had no idea what to make of it; he merely shook his head. Colby stared at him, his eyes wide and jaw slack. “Man, you really don’t know anyth . . .”

Colby trailed off midsentence, walking abruptly into a sudden fog of drunkenness. His entire body felt warm, fuzzy, his head swimming in a numbing sea. Everything was hazy, dreamlike, colors exploding into starbursts, revealing layer upon layer, dancing in perpetual motion, as if each shade were a drop in a kaleidoscopic ocean.

Colby’s depth perception shifted radically; approaching an object seemed to flatten or deform it, causing the very strange sensation that the world had been bent out of shape then returned to its original form as best as the bender knew how—leaving millions of tiny creases and imperfections that Colby now noticed for the first time. He floated; while his feet still touched the ground, he felt buoyant, drifting through an ocean of ecstatic elation. Everything was muffled, as if he were twenty feet underwater, his body tingling, tickled by a thousand fish while he was down there.

For minutes he stood still, stuck in a thousand-yard stare, gazing into a chimerical world he’d long daydreamed about. The trees were the same; the ground was the same; the air was the same. And yet, it was all very different. The same color, but different; the same texture, but different; the same world, but different. Colby stood on the edge of forever and let the sensation wash over him—not just buzzed, but thoroughly drunk off it.

Such was fairy time, and he was swept entirely into its flow.

“Come on. What are you waiting for?” asked Ewan of his new friend.

Colby grinned, dazed, staring dumbstruck into the woods. He looked up at Ewan, trying to shake off the euphoria, but it wouldn’t pass. He would be swimming in this feeling for a while. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m coming.” Together they continued up the hill, each step fighting a current rolling steadily against them, as if they were metal men walking through a magnetic field. The trees buzzed with static, like a thousand cicadas screaming.

They walked for what seemed like forever. Time was irrelevant now. A day was just the shifting of the sun in the sky, nothing more. Everything began to make sense. The interconnectivity of every living thing was transparent, obvious—even if Colby didn’t know what any of those words meant. He got it now. The universe was a magical, beautiful place; bristling with energy, full of life, overflowing with joy.

Up the hill. Down the other side. Fields of flowers rippled in the wind, exploding with smells. Tinkling notes of fairy music wafted in on the afternoon. There was so much to take in and so little ability to process it all that Colby didn’t notice as pixies began to flutter about, closing in, circling the boys. There were four in all, each six inches high, beautiful, shimmering in glamour.

“A boy!” exclaimed Caja, the smallest and shrillest of the four.

“Indeed, a boy! A boy!” echoed Broennen, the prettiest of the lot.

“Oh, it’s not that big a deal,” said Melwyn, shrugging apathetically and narrowing her eyes at the interloper.

Only the fourth pixie, Talwyn, showed any reservation at all. She hovered ten feet away, flitting back and forth from behind a large oak, catching only glimpses of the young boy, assembling them together to form a complete picture in her head. Once she saw her sisters swarming the boy, flying as close as a span to him without a single reflexive swat to strike them down, she peered around the tree and took a good, long look, folding her arms and narrowing her eyes. “I don’t trust him,” she said, pronouncing judgment. “He shouldn’t be able to see us.”

“That’s what I said!” exclaimed Ewan, happy someone was finally agreeing with him.

Colby looked around, smiling nervously. “What are these things?” he asked.

“Field pixies.” Ewan smiled.

“Oh, you’re ceiling fairies!” said Colby.

Ewan leaned over, whispering. “Seelie,” he said under his breath.

Colby whispered back. “That’s what I said. Ceiling.”

Ewan tried again, still trying not to let the pixies hear. “No,” he said “SEE-LEE. Seelie. No ling. See-lee.”

“Oh, seelie,” Colby whispered back.

“Yes. Seelie,” said Caja with both hands on her hips, floating inches from his head. She cocked her head disapprovingly, wondering whether it was a good idea to have a new boy around at all. This one seemed rather thick. “Who are you, anyway?”

“I’m Colby.”

Caja looked at her sisters.

“Go on! Go on!” they said in unison. Each fluttered about, trading places, never flying in one spot for more than three seconds at a time.

Caja nodded. “And what do you do?”

“What do you mean?” asked Colby.

“What do you do? What are you? What is your reason for being?” she asked, as if he was simply too stupid to understand.

“I’m a kid,” he answered.

Unimpressed, she pressed on. “And?”

“And I can see things,” he continued.

“See things?” she pressed further.

“That other people can’t.”

“OH!” she exclaimed. “Well, that’s quite special! And how did you come by that?”

“A djinn spit in my eyes,” he answered.

The four fairies hovered in place, bewildered, their wings still beating furiously, their limp jaws dangling open. “Ew,” said Talwyn. “Gross.”

“Ew, I know, right?” agreed Broennen.

“I don’t think we should let him pass,” said Melwyn. “All in favor?” Four tiny hands shot into the air at once. It was unanimous.

Ewan looked worried, troubled that he might not be able to bring his new friend to camp. Then he smiled, leaning over, whispering something into Colby’s ear. Colby furrowed his brow, shaking his head. “Uh-uh.”

“Do it,” urged Ewan.

Colby continued his exaggerated head shake. “No way. You do it.”

“I can’t,” said Ewan.

“What are you two up to?” asked Caja.

“I’m not doing that in front of girls,” said Colby.

“If you don’t, you’ll never get to the village. They won’t let you.”

Caja glowered, wary of Ewan’s scheming. “Ewan?”

Colby hung his head, sighing deeply. Then he stripped off his shirt, turning it inside out, and put it back on. The pixies’ eyes grew wide with shock and for a moment it seemed as if the entire wood had gone silent.

Talwyn covered her mouth, pointing. “His shirt! It’s . . . it’s . . .”

“It’s inside out!” cried Broennen. The pixies burst into fits of laughter. Each spiraled out of control, careening, flailing about the forest, chortling with churlish, uncontrollable laughter. They spun, flitting; wheeling about the wood as if dangled on the end of a string whirled above the heads of the boys. “It’s inside out!” Broennen repeated. “Inside out!”

“How silly! How silly he is!” cried Melwyn.

Ewan grabbed Colby by the arm. “Quick! Let’s go.” Colby nodded and the two ran off together up the next hill. They sprinted as fast as they could, their little legs carrying them up and over the hilltop, then down toward the small valley dip below. Behind them they could still hear the wild laughter of the pixies, a sound seemingly chasing them, driving them like stampeding cattle down the slope. “Don’t look back!” yelled Ewan to his new friend “And whatever you do, don’t turn your shirt back right side out!”

“Okay!” yelled Colby, falling behind. Colby wasn’t nearly as athletic as Ewan, who gracefully darted over rocks, weaving in and out of trees. He kept up as best he could, but the sharp pain of a cramp through the side of his stomach soon brought him to a stop. Overwhelmed, Colby, with a single arm, propped himself against a tree, wheezing, trying to work through the discomfort.

Ewan looked back over his shoulder, saw that he had lost Colby, and, without slowing down, swung around on a tree trunk to backtrack.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Colby panted. “Who were those girls?”

Ewan stopped in place, not even winded. “Those were the pixie sisters. Talwyn, Melwyn, Caja, and Broennen.”

“They were mean!”

“I think they were just playing.”

Colby looked up, confused. “So why did we run?”

Ewan smiled. “Because they are nasty pranksters, and I didn’t want to see what they had in mind for . . .” Slowly, Ewan’s smile drooped as he trailed off. “Uh-oh.”

Colby soon shared Ewan’s worried expression. “What do you mean, uh-oh?”

“Don’t look behind you.”

Colby turned around. Behind him, not five feet from where he was standing, stood a brown pony, ornately saddled, staring right into Colby’s eyes. Its mane was braided in places, long red plaits running down through nicely combed hair. This was no wild horse, but rather someone’s kept beast, wandering in the woods alone. The pony threw its head back, motioning to its saddle.

Colby smiled broadly, his eyes flung wide. “A pony!” Reaching with an outstretched arm, Colby attempted to stroke the pony’s mane.

“No!” shouted Ewan. “Don’t! It’s a trick!” Colby recoiled, now wary of the pony, taking two slow steps backward. “I told you not to look behind you.”

“Sorry,” said Colby.

The pony tossed its head furiously and whinnied, stamping its feet in the dirt. Suddenly it began to shudder, like a dog shaking off water, shrinking, as if it were casting itself off into thin air. Horsehair became skin, the saddle a belt, the mane a shock of hair atop a human head. This was no pony; it was a little girl.

She looked all of thirteen, face freckled from ear to ear, with long hair—redder and deeper than Colby’s—and two long braids running down to her waist amid a sea of tresses. Her hands were balled into angry fists resting on her hips and she scowled long and hard at Ewan. “How dare you, sir,” she spat. “That was a right old trick I had goin’, an’ you had no place takin’ it from me.”

Ewan shook his head. “He’s my friend. I found him. And if anyone is going to tricks him, it is going to be me.” He grinned wide at Colby. “I choose not to tricks him.”

From deep within the forest came the dull, muted thud of a gallop—another pony, equal in size to the first. It ran, its hooves kicking up dust as it tore full bore toward the three children. Its saddle was as ornate as the first, but this pony appeared more powerful, much less done up. Rounding a large oak, it set eyes on the children and, without missing a stride, shook and went from pony to boy, his bare feet still carrying him straight toward them.

He came to a full stop, inches away from what could only be his sister. They stood shoulder to shoulder, his face as freckled as hers, his hair as deep a red. “Crap. Did I miss it?”

“Nah,” replied his sister, sighing deeply. “Ewan spoilt it but good.”

“Ewan!” whined the boy. “We were just gonna take the chil’ fer a li’l ride.”

Ewan shook his head. “Sorry. No ride today. I’m taking him to camp. He brought a djinn.”

“What’s a djinn?” asked both children excitedly, their eyes wide and curious.

“I have no idea,” he answered. “But he sounds important.” Ewan then turned to Colby. “This is my friend Colby. He’s just a boy.” Then he smiled, motioning to the two puckish rascals standing before them. “This is Acadia and Otis. They’re Lutins. You gotta be careful with them or they’ll run you all around and wear you out. Then they’ll dump you in a pond or something.”

Acadia smirked mischievously. “Not always.”

“Yeah,” Otis said, smiling. “We jus’ did that ta you.”

Acadia looked at her brother, then, without saying a word, the two brightened up a little more. “So, now that we’re not tricksin’ you or nothing,” she said, “you be wantin’ a ride to camp?”

Colby nodded excitedly and looked at Ewan. Ewan shook his head disapprovingly. “Have you learned nothing?”

Colby cast his eyes to the ground, scuffing the dirt. “We’ll walk. Thanks.”

The two grimaced back at the boys, looked at each other, and turned away, transforming themselves back into ponies. Together they galloped off, back into the woods.

“You have to be careful out here, Colby,” said Ewan. “Seelie or not, some of these fairies are very tricksy.”

“You mean tricky?”

“Tricksy. Trust me. That’s how you’re supposed to say it.” Ewan pointed up the hill. “Come on. We’re almost there.”

The two once again traipsed through the vibrant wood, the echoes of galloping hooves and distant laughter adding a heartbeat to the twittering trill of life all around them. The scents were stronger here, the wildflowers delivering delirious intoxication, hints of jasmine and honeysuckle tickling notes of mountain laurel. Meanwhile, time continued to waver, patches of moments sprinting ahead of them as the trees wobbled and oscillated in a fast-forward stop-motion flutter before their boughs and leaves slowed down, waving again at more appropriate speeds. Clouds burst and dissipated above them. Temporality held no sway here. They were two soap bubbles circling time’s drain, sometimes spinning very quickly—about to be sucked down into the darkness—before being flung back out to orbit slowly for a while longer on the outer edge again.

As they approached the very top of the hill, a shadow flickered beside a tree, as if it were somehow outside of time, slipping in and out of the peculiarity that held them both so tightly. Ewan looked nervously at Colby. “Oh no,” he whispered. “It’s the Old Man.”

“Who’s the old man?” asked Colby.

“Only the tricksiest of them all.”

Coyote laughed, his smile as bright and as untrustworthy as ever. “Don’t fill the boy’s head with tales about me. Let him find out for himself.” The two boys fidgeted in place, staring at Coyote, both spooked—Colby because he didn’t know what to expect, Ewan because he did. Coyote grinned broadly at them, his copper skin cracking with weathered smile lines and crow’s-feet. “And just who might you be, young man?”

“I’m Colby Stevens, sir.”

“Colby Stevens, huh? Never heard of you.” He shook his head and looked at the ground, seemingly tsking under his breath, all the while hiding a playful smirk. Then with a glimmer in his eye he looked up and said, “But I think I might just know who you are. Come on, let’s show you around.”

From the haze of mist and trees emerged Yashar, having stayed just close enough to keep an eye on Colby, but far enough away to not seem like it. He grinned, tickled by what he’d seen.

Coyote waved at Yashar. “Is this yours?” he asked of Colby.

“Yes, sir. He’s my djinn.”

Coyote looked Yashar up and down, stroking his chin. “Do we know each other, stranger?”

“Of one another, yes.” Yashar smiled. “You’re the trickster, Coyote.”

Coyote’s smile grew impossibly wide, considering how broadly he’d been smiling before. “And that would make you the Cursed One.”

Yashar nodded, unfazed by the nickname. “Yashar,” he said, offering his hand in friendship.

“Coyote.” The two shook hands. “Come, let me show you both around camp.” Coyote walked away, rather abruptly leaving the three behind.

Yashar, walking along beside them, motioned with a hurried flap of his hand for the boys to follow. He looked down at Colby. “So, did you learn anything on your walk?”

Colby nodded excitedly. “Yeah, it turns out Ewan knows stuff after all!”

“Really? So he’s not as dumb as you thought?”

“No! Well, he still hasn’t seen Aladdin and doesn’t know what a video game is, but I can teach him that.”

“Can you?” asked Yashar.

“Yeah, but only if he keeps teaching me how to defeat fairies.”

“I can teach you that!” Ewan beamed.

Colby nodded with a smile. “Cool.”